


collected ficlets of 2020

by throughfire



Series: Buck and Eddie [11]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throughfire/pseuds/throughfire
Summary: 1: gentle teasing and a comparison to a plant. (Established relationship.)2: water brings back memories, but Eddie is a reminder of the present. (Established relationship.)3: physical touch as a form of communication. (Getting together.)4: a kiss. (Getting together.)5: Eddie holds Buck's niece for the first time, and Buck has thesefeelings.(Established relationship.)6: the aftermath of a fight. (Established relationship.)7: Eddie is pretty sure that he's dying, so naturally he calls Buck. (Getting together.)8: an early morning and a promise of an adventure. (Established relationship.)9: a getaway to a forest in the middle of nowhere. (Getting together.)10: three AM comfort, with extra kisses. (Getting together.)11: the three times Buck thinks he's being mistaken for someone else, and the one time he figures it all out. (Getting together.)12: wherein Eddie is unsettled, and Buck is an anchor. (Established relationship.)13: Buck has forced himself not to touch Eddie all night. (Secret relationship.)14: they collide beneath the mistletoe. (Getting together.)
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: Buck and Eddie [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630543
Comments: 316
Kudos: 811





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Person A teases Person B about getting sleepy after having sex. As B is falling asleep, the last thing they say is “I’m going to marry your idiot ass.” A then gets flustered, pulls B tenderly into their arms and falls asleep together with B."

”It was that good, huh?”

Eddie curls all the fingers but one against his left palm; shows the middle one without lifting the hand or opening his eyes to address Buck with an unimpressed glare. The right side of his face sinks deeper into his pillow and he exhales heavily into the softness there.

Buck snorts at him, full of fondness. He can feel his heart finally slowing down to its usual, steady rhythm, and his breathing is evening out as the night grows older. He snatches a corner of the duvet from where it’s been hanging halfway off the foot of the bed and drags it over himself, over his cooling body. Then he makes sure to cover Eddie with it, too – deprives himself of that gorgeous sight that he still hasn’t drunken himself full of yet. He doesn’t think that he ever will, that his oxygen intake will ever be at full capacity around this man.

Eddie really is about to fall asleep; his eyes have been closed for minutes and his breathing has gone all slow and comforting where he’s curled up on his side, bracketing Buck’s body.

The sex _was_ that good. It always has been, has always been such a splendid mix of desire and tenderness that it still takes Buck by surprise every time; overwhelms him in the most magnificent and breathtaking of ways. Tonight it was slow and careful, laced with patience and effectively fighting back the longing that has clung to both of them all day. 

Buck has spent his day off building a new bookcase to accommodate Christopher’s ever-growing book collection, but Eddie came home after a particularly taxing shift with soot still clinging to his skin and a cruel-looking bruise blossoming over his ribs. It’s understandable that he’s falling asleep on Buck right now, that his body is so spent that he’s already drifting off.

Simply having Eddie here, in bed and an inch away, is enough to settle Buck. Feeling Eddie upon his skin, still, and knowing that he can reach out to touch or lean down to kiss Eddie whenever he wants to serves as a balm to his entire being, to every part of him that has been missing Eddie all day.

He didn’t think that it would be like this after years spent together; didn’t know that love could last like this, that it could be so unfalteringly intense.

He shifts a little. Pushes himself from his back to his side so that he’s facing Eddie’s peaceful form, studying him. There’s warmth visible beneath the surface of his skin, in his cheeks. Lingering exertion and the aftermath of pleasure still clinging to him, painting him in hues of pink, in traces of Buck’s affection. His mouth is stained in a darker shade than usual, his eyelashes full and pretty where they fan out against the delicate skin under his eyes. He’s a work of art; there’s so much to appreciate, so many layers to take in even when he’s on the verge of sleep like this.

“You’re like one of those sleepy plants,” Buck says. His voice is quiet, wary of Eddie’s exhaustion, yet carrying a note of excitement unearthed from that grain of truth, of realization.

Eddie makes a noise through the veil of his sleepiness, low and disagreeing, though not discouraging.

Buck searches his own mind; sorts through a somewhat dusty catalogue of information stored away in a time when he and Christopher spent hours pouring themselves over websites in attempt to find the right guidelines on how to best care for the sunflower that the boy brought home from school and insisted that they’d plant in the backyard.

It clicks softly – makes his mouth stretch with delight as he says, “Mimosa Pudica. The sleepy plant.”

“We’re not making mimosas,” Eddie grunts into his pillow, his visible eye still firmly shut. “You start work in seven hours.”

“You’re not even a little bit funny,” Buck says flatly, though his smile betrays him – is probably carried by the threads of their sheets and pressed to Eddie’s skin to whisper of his fondness. “I know you heard what I said.”

Mimosa Pudica. Its leaves collapse if you stroke them; they close under the force of warmth, wind and shaking. He knows that there were more names for the plant listed on that website. Remembers it being called sensitive, which Eddie very much is. Recalls one of its nicknames being touch-me-not, which resonates even louder because Eddie has barriers. A lot of them. And while Eddie’s heart is warm and tender, he’s selective about the people that he allows past those barriers, into that heart. As far as Buck knows, he and Christopher are the only ones allowed to roam entirely freely in there.

He reaches his right arm out, now, bridging the short distance between them and touching the back of a finger to Eddie’s temple. He runs it down to the cheekbone and onwards, down to that stubbled jawline where his whole hand fits so perfectly, feels so right. Eddie doesn’t shut down under Buck’s touch, doesn’t collapse or close in on himself when Buck strokes his skin with proprietary fingertips. Eddie still blossoms beautifully beneath them.

“You are _so_ like those plants.”

Eddie is barely with him now, balancing precariously on the edge of unconsciousness when he ponders; “Most plants do need their sunshine.”

It takes Buck a moment of contemplation to take those words in and make sense of the underlying meaning within them, but eventually he understands what Eddie is hinting at. Can see that Eddie, simply by mumbling those words, has confirmed Buck’s unspoken thoughts and underscored them with another reason why Buck is allowed inside of that heart. Why Buck, despite his stumbling and loud nature, can come close enough to touch and cherish and have Eddie lean _into_ him instead of recoiling. Buck isn’t an enemy that’s trying to startle Eddie into withdrawal; he’s the light that helps him flourish. 

“Are you really going to fall asleep on me when we’re having a _moment_?” Buck asks him. “It’s all very poetic, you know. You’d love it.”

“I can love it _tomorrow_.”

“Maybe I won’t want to talk about it then,” Buck counters, grinning. “Maybe I feel like you’re just using me for your physical needs when you’re doing this – using me for sex and then falling asleep right after. What about the deep conversations, Eddie? What about the _romance_? We should be gazing into each other’s eyes and—”

“You’re an idiot, Buck,” Eddie groans, though he’s smiling prettily. Half his mouth is pressed into his pillow, but the other corner of it is visibly curled upwards. He still has his eyes closed. “I _love_ you, but shut the fuck up.”

“Aw,” Buck hums through laughter, shifting his hand so that his thumb is brushing against the edge of that smile. “You’re such a charmer.”

He feels wholly happy, here. He loves this man so much that his bones ache with it some days, but nights like these make the pain settle – this back-and-forth kind of banter soothes him just as much as the deep and meaningful conversations do. He wants the entire package of _them_ for the rest of his life.

He’s pretty sure that Eddie finally has fallen asleep, then. That soft, full mouth has gone slack beneath Buck’s touch, and Eddie’s breathing is so deep, so steady, that Buck simply lies there and takes it all in for a while. Commits yet another picture of Eddie’s beauty to memory for the next time they’re set to spend a day apart.

“I’m going to marry your idiot ass one day, you know.”

It’s quiet and laced with sleep, but there’s still a note of determination hidden in the drawl of Eddie’s voice. The words are unmistakable, their implication clear, and Buck can feel his own bottom lip tremble, can feel his heart rate pick up again, just from that. From those few words spoken in that drowsy state.

 _For the rest of his life_ – Buck was just thinking it. And he _does_ want it, perhaps more so than he’s wanted anything else before. Hearing Eddie say it, though, and getting a confirmation that Eddie’s thinking those thoughts, too, is almost too much. Makes his cheeks feel warm and his toes cold and his chest so damn full of emotion and he’s suddenly so scared that it’ll burst.

He shifts his hand from Eddie’s face – slides it along Eddie’s neck and shoulder, all the way down to Eddie’s waist and pulls until Eddie is leaning into that overflowing chest like a shield to protect it, keep it from bursting.

He holds Eddie close. Cherishes the familiar and overwhelming warmth of Eddie’s skin against his own and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead in a silent yes that Eddie won’t be able to translate in the morning, and allows himself to acknowledge his own exhaustion, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://through-fire.tumblr.com/) in case you have a prompt.
> 
> All I ask is that you don’t get angry with me if I don’t end up writing it - I’ve taught myself after years of suffering not to force a story to be written unless the inspiration is there, and sometimes it sadly just doesn’t click.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "If I prompt you to post the bit about Buck struggling to take a shower after the tsunami that you posted and deleted a while back, will you do it?"
> 
> (Quick little warning for anxious thoughts, though with a promise of lots of comfort for Buck.)

It’s been a long shift, ending with an especially rough call. 

It’s not uncommon, but it still hits just as bad every time, still leaves Buck feeling unsettled in his own skin. There’s barely energy left in his body to drag himself into the bathroom when they get home, but he still feels like he could have done more, fought harder, been more attentive, and he knows that it’s going to be a tough afternoon and evening. 

He doesn’t quite remember how he used to get through days like these without Eddie by his side, without the knowledge that he had a family to be with after; a bright-eyed boy to pick up from school and a partner to breathe in and thrive off of.

He’s just going to take a shower – try to wash some of the day off his skin – and then they’ll go. Eddie made quiet promises of ice cream on the drive home from the station and Buck plans to hold him to that – has a clear vision in his mind of the three of them on the couch together by the end of the night, ice cream gone and sleep tucked silently around them.

Things go okay at first. He gets his socks off his feet, drags his shirt over his head and makes it out of his pants while his skin remains on, still an uncomfortable fit but nonetheless protective over flesh and bone. 

He never feels it coming; it always blindsides him when it happens.

Clad in nothing but boxers he stares at the shower, and something inside of him just  _ breaks _ . Air suspended in lungs; his thoughts too scattered to make sense. He feels explosive with fear, a spark away from bursting, and the room’s too small and he’s too big and the shower is  _ there _ but he’s not. He doesn’t feel solid enough, doesn’t have the energy to go in there, to stand there, to fight.

“Buck?”

He startles. Forces a breath in that catches painfully in his throat, and manages to tear his gaze away from the shower. He avoids looking in the mirror because he’s not sure he’ll be able to see himself there, he feels too washed out and faded.

Eddie’s standing in the doorway, wearing unbuttoned jeans and a concerned expression, his torso bare and tanned. His hair is a mess from where he must have tugged his t-shirt over his head and he’s arching his eyebrows, now, tilting them inwards in a frown. He’s visibly tired, too, but still beautiful. The realest thing Buck knows and entirely too good to be true all at once.

“You haven’t even gotten into the shower yet?” he asks. His mouth moves around the words, but they sound muffled. The water always seeps in everywhere, distorts everything it can reach. “It’s been ten minutes.”

Buck means to answer, but when he parts his lips the only thing that comes out is a noise, broken and loosened by force from the back of his throat.

Eddie reacts in an instant, telegraphing his actions as he moves behind the building wall of dirty water in Buck’s eyes to come closer.

“Can I touch you?” he murmurs next. Then, when he doesn’t get an answer, he adds, “I’m going to touch your hand, Buck. Move it away from mine if you don’t want me to.”

Buck can feel it; Eddie’s fingers brushing against his own knuckles and how they gently move on and try to work Buck’s fingers open. Eddie unclenches the tight fist of Buck’s hand eventually, and presses the pads of his fingers against the halfmoon dents that Buck’s short nails must have left behind there with unintentional pressure.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures. “You don’t have to shower right now.”

Buck flicks his gaze back to Eddie, away from the shower. He feels small now – doesn’t understand how Eddie can see him so clearly, hold on to him so easily, so fearlessly. He wants to tell Eddie to leave, hide and take over – ask if Eddie can’t feel how all of Buck is trembling with pent-up energy, how close he is to exploding.

“I want to,” he manages to insist, rough at the edges. “Wanna try.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Eddie says, taking Buck’s other hand in his own as well. “Want me to join you?”

“Yes,” Buck whispers back, though he’s nodding frantically. He can feel the desperation curl around his spine and branch out to his fingers where it makes him apply that same, forceful pressure to the hold he now has of Eddie’s hands. It’s too rough, too cruel and fueled by the fear of Eddie slipping away from him.

His vision is going blurry; Eddie’s contours disappearing behind water,  _ always _ water, water everywhere and it’s so  _ dirty _ , so much greyish brown and red and blood in all that wetness, so much fear in each drop and he can’t. He  _ can’t _ . “Please.”

“Of course, Buck, I’m right here,” Eddie soothes, speaking louder now. He’s squeezing Buck’s hands in return, not shying away from the pain that Buck’s hold must be inflicting upon him but leaning into it instead, pressing their bodies even closer. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll go in together. And we can get out whenever you want, okay Buck?”

“Okay,” Buck whispers wetly. “I’ll say.”

“You’ll say,” Eddie repeats. “Or just yank my arm or something, okay? We’ll get right out.”

Buck nods; shows that he has understood, that he remembers. They’ve done this before.

“Chris?”

“Christopher is safe.”

Buck nods again, tries to breathe because that’s good. It’s a good thing. Chris is  _ safe _ .

Eddie starts sliding a foot backwards, then, ever so slow. Buck swallows. Watches on for a moment, steeling himself, until his mind irrationally supplies; “But – your pants.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie says. He’s stopped, has slid his foot forward again. “Do you want your underwear off?”

“Yeah,” Buck gets out, because he does. He  _ does _ . Clothes are heavy. They suck up water and they get  _ heavy  _ and then you sink and sink and sink and there’s no fighting it, you just tumble around helplessly in the dirty watercolor-dregs of torn up debris until you’ve forgotten what breathing is.

“I’ll have to borrow one of my hands,” Eddie says, ducking to meet Buck’s gaze. He’s so patient, the hint of his kind smile so warm. “You can keep the other one.”

Buck makes a noise, forcing the fingers of his left hand to let go and subsequently squeezing even harder with the other one. He must be cutting off the blood circulation in Eddie’s hand at this point, but he can’t make himself stop; can’t get his body to work right, to unfreeze and sink back into rationality even though he knows deep down that that’s all this is. Irrationality. His mind playing tricks on him and his past refusing to let go.

“Good, that’s good,” Eddie hums. He immediately touches the index finger of his now free hand to the bone in Buck’s wrist, then proceeds to curl his thumb around it, too, and gently slides his hand up the forearm. 

He rounds the elbow, moves up the bicep and follows the curve of Buck’s shoulder, down over the collarbone and further. The pressure is firm but kind to make sure that Buck feels it; holds the implication that Eddie understands what Buck needs because they’ve talked about this – Buck has let Eddie know in the aftermath of past crashes and Eddie has obviously tucked that information into his heart, consumed it and turned it into this. Care. An unyielding force of safety to battle Buck’s inner demons.

Eddie’s palm is flat against Buck’s chest and abdomen, warm on its trek out to Buck’s side and then an anchoring weight when it curls around Buck’s hip, pointed against the edge of fabric there. He slides Buck’s underwear off slowly, struggling with the one hand but working through it patiently, easing the fabric down over hips and knees, calves and then the ankles. 

On the way back up he follows his own imprints; takes the same path with a quick detour of a kiss against Buck’s left knee before he’s on route again, ending with a finger on that same knot of bone in Buck’s wrist and punctuating it with a soft smile and the reunion of their hands.

“Ready?” he asks, waiting patiently until Buck looks at him. “Still want to do this?”

“Yes,” Buck says, determined now. Fractionally less unsettled in his own skin. He swallows. Resumes the steel grip of Eddie’s hands.

Eddie backs slowly, then, and Buck follows him one tile at a time, cataloguing each ridge of the floor with his toes and forcing himself to breathe. His eyes aren’t as wet now, but there’s an ocean in his ears again; Eddie’s gentle murmuring gone distant. Whatever Eddie is saying is true, though. His touch is still the realest thing Buck knows. He trusts it.

He has to let go of Eddie’s hand again when they’re inside the shower; watches on as Eddie reaches out and turns the water on to a mere trickle, cold and measly where it splashes against Eddie’s foot. He nods to urge Eddie to turn the knob further, and lets go of Eddie’s other hand in favor of burrowing in close to Eddie’s chest, pressing in close to that warmth.

Eddie wraps an arm around him instinctively, holds his other hand under the spray of water until he’s satisfied with the temperature, and then hums out contentment. Buck can feel the vibration of that sound against his palm where it’s pressed tight over Eddie’s heart. Then he can feel the warmth of Eddie’s other palm, damp but safe as it comes to rest on Buck’s side, and he takes a deep breath. Eases his foot in next to Eddie’s under the water.

It’s warm, and it’s wet and encompassing and he can’t breathe, but Eddie is there. Solid. Skin and flesh and bone and affection; a harbor that cannot be washed away, that won’t let Buck drift off. There’s not a threat of sinking in sight.

Buck’s foot is still there, on the floor and in the line of the water. His ankle isn’t faltering under his own weight, he isn’t losing his footing to currents. He manages a breath. Two. And then Eddie is backing further in under the water, allowing it to drench him. His face is dripping wet within seconds, with drops hanging precariously off his eyelashes and wetness making his lips glisten in the faint light. He’s still there. Buck doesn’t have to save him, not anyone, not now. He just has to wash himself, and then he’s going to step out and dry himself off. 

He can  _ do _ that. He can do a lot of things.

So he follows Eddie in under the spray of water, and finally dares to close his eyes, tilt his head up and take it. He focuses on the tiles beneath his feet, the skin over his bones, the feeling of Eddie’s arms around him, holding him. Focuses on the way he can breathe, still, even with water trickling down his face and distorting his hearing, and on the way he doesn’t have to fight to stand still.

He knows that Christopher is safe and sound; that the city is calm and thriving. He knows that everything is okay.

He takes one, shuddering breath, then, and opens his eyes. Looks at Eddie, with water clinging to his own eyelashes, now, framing Eddie beautifully. Nothing dirty about it, no weight or blood or debris. Just safety. Comfort and beauty.

Eddie blinks back at him, his smile warm and wide when he murmurs, “There you are.”

Buck hangs his head forward, simply breathing for a while, while Eddie presses his mouth to Buck’s forehead in a kiss, long and lingering. His arm is till wrapped around Buck’s back; his other hand reaffirming promises of  _ staying _ against Buck’s side as though searing it in-between ribs – as though anyone could ever doubt it. It makes Buck feel fragile in a whole new way; raw and sensitive and  _ better _ , because he knows that Eddie will always do anything he can to keep Buck safe, even if the battle is against Buck himself.

Buck takes another breath, blinks away wetness. Whispers, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Eddie tells him, warm against Buck’s skin. “Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://through-fire.tumblr.com/) in case you have a prompt.
> 
> All I ask is that you don’t get angry with me if I don’t end up writing it - I’ve taught myself after years of suffering not to force a story to be written unless the inspiration is there, and sometimes it sadly just doesn’t click.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's own prompt, because why not: "Physical touch as Buck and Eddie's primary form of communication, spanned over a day."

**12.22 AM**

Maddie texts him just after midnight. His phone chimes quietly, but he’s been sleeping fitfully on the couch for the past hour and it doesn’t take much to wake him up anyway, not since he came back from the war.

He’s been worried all evening, thinking about Buck; about his and Maddie’s parents, and about his own. About cut ties and emotional impacts in the aftermath of a collision between objects that should have been in peaceful orbit around each other.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to reach out for him, but the worry has kept him up anyway, and the darkness praises him for his efforts, now. The screen of his phone shines too brightly, too harshly, and he blinks at Maddie’s name for a moment before he unlocks the device and slides the message open.

She’s on his doorstep five minutes later, with a concerned-looking Chimney standing right behind her. By then, Eddie has had the time to slip on a sweater over his t-shirt, gathered Chris’s stuff in his school bag so that it’s ready for the morning, and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead.

He meets them in the doorway; can tell that whatever went down at the Buckley family reunion this evening has affected her, too, but she’s got Chimney’s hand pressed to her lower back, calming and protective, and there’s enough affection in the both of them to light the world on fire. He knows that they’ll be fine with each other; that Chris will be safe under their watch tonight.

He gets into his car and drives under the gentle encouragement of city lights, parks outside of Buck’s apartment building and lets himself inside with his spare key. The entire place is bathed in darkness, with the moonlight peeking in curiously through the windows and highlighting Buck’s form on the bed up on the loft. The man hasn’t reacted to the intrusion; must have known that it was Eddie from the moment that he twisted the key in the lock.

Evan Buckley can be loud. Is often so exuberant. Sometimes he won’t stop talking until something interrupts him, disrupts his flow and knocks him off kilter. He throws his brightness at anything that’s close by and proclaims it in vivid shades, though he has a habit of tucking the darker parts away where he thinks that no one else will see them, within himself as though he’s sure that no one will try to figure him out from the inside. Buck tends to deal with the harder parts of life alone, tends to think that he is a burden if he doesn’t.

He can be loud, but he can also be devastatingly quiet.

Eddie understands quiet. He has never been good with words, has never been able to say them the way he’s wanted to and sometimes he even struggles to hear them clearly and interpret them right. It’s always been a problem – has caused issues between himself and every person that he has met in his adult life – until Buck came along.

Now he’s stood in the dark and overbearing silence of Buck’s bedroom, and he doesn’t need words to understand that Buck has isolated himself on purpose tonight – that he has pretended not to need his sister’s support in this aftermath of a family dinner that has surely pierced through him, through his defenses, and left him this quiet.

While Maddie didn’t use a lot of words, either, she made it clear that she didn’t know how to approach her brother this evening, how to get through to him. She was emotional and desperate, the way an older sibling always will be in the face of inadequacy, but there was trust in her gaze when she looked at Eddie over the threshold a mere few minutes ago. Something telling him that she thought that he would know better.

He _doesn’t_ know. Looking down at the curled up mass of Buck’s body under the duvet, he has no idea what he can offer this man or how he can make anything better for him – can’t tell how he’s supposed to help Buck settle or how to uncurl those tense limbs and unfurl Buck from the self-protective ball that he currently is upon that mattress.

But his own body aches. He has that to go on. So he stops fighting against the elastic threads that have gained more and more tension since they got off their last shift together, and allows his body to snap gently back towards Buck’s; rounds the bed, lifts the corner of the duvet and slips in behind Buck on the mattress. There, he presses an infatuated hand to the curve of Buck’s waist and pulls, can feel Buck ease back against him and mold against the shape of Eddie’s body.

Eddie presses his entire forearm against Buck’s front; his palm tight against Buck’s chest with Buck’s hand as a comforting anchor on top, holding it in place. He brushes his nose against the back of Buck’s neck, savors the feeling of the duvet where it encapsulates the two of them, warm and protective on top along with the faint moonlight. And once Buck seemingly realizes that Eddie will hold the world together for him for a while – will keep Buck whole in his arms – he starts to cry.

**5.57 AM**

When he wakes up, he finds that Buck has turned in his sleep. The man is now pressed up tight against Eddie’s chest, with his nose buried in the hollow of Eddie’s throat and his hands tucked in between their bodies. His breathing is even and deep; comforting to listen to in the bright morning light that surrounds them, and his body feels warm and safe in Eddie’s arms.

He kisses Buck’s forehead to the disgruntled soundtrack of Buck waking up; smiles against the soft skin there as Buck moves one arm out from between them and sneaks it around Eddie’s waist with an appreciative hum. A moment later, Buck is breathing out deeply and settling down in the hold of Eddie’s arms again, the tight fist of his hand in the back of Eddie’s sweater the only remaining sign of tension in his body as he drifts off for another seventeen minutes.

**8.03AM**

Eddie drinks his first cup of coffee for the day at the station. He closes his eyes as the familiar bitterness coats his tongue, allows it to burn his mouth and admonish his impatience.

He’s tired. Didn’t get much sleep in-between worrying, going to Buck’s place, and watching over Buck as he slept. The countertop behind him is supportive, though. It shows compassion by helping someone who helped someone else and allows him to lean back heavily against it. He keeps his eyes closed, focuses on the warm ceramic held in his palms, and savors the quiet before whatever storm may come today.

Buck’s voice is coming closer, along with Chimney’s responding jabs as they discuss the topic at hand passionately. Eddie doesn’t listen, he just takes another sip of coffee and accepts the warmth when it envelops him; washes down his throat and crashes against his side all at once.

It’s Buck’s upper arm that greets his own, first. A gentle press and a quiet hello that is followed by the rest of Buck’s side; their hips connecting and Buck’s foot bumping the side of Eddie’s on the floor. Even though Eddie can’t see him, Buck’s presence eases a pressure in Eddie’s chest that he hadn’t realized had been building in there until now, and it makes him think of magnets. Of the fight to get back to each other, to shove everything in the way _out_ of the way in order to reconnect.

After tonight, there’s an extra layer of similarity there; something that resonates with him even more now that it usually does, and he can tell by the way Buck is leaning into him that it resonates in the other man, too. That the lapses of distance between them feel more taxing today than they have done before, that anything separating them will be more important to push aside for a clear path back to each other now.

Buck is still talking, trying to convince Chimney of some thing or another, though his weight against Eddie’s side is quieter, spelling out a soft _thank you_. It’s underscoring a sentiment of _I see your exhaustion – the way it’s lining your face and your shoulders, the way it has curled your fingers around that mug – and I’m grateful for it. I’m standing here, whole, because of it. Because you didn’t let shards of me remain in bed this morning_. Eddie leans backs more heavily against him; allows Buck to take more of his weight in response and cracks an eye open when Chimney calls his name.

He still doesn’t know what they’re talking about, so he just calls them both idiots and refuses to take a side. Shuts his eye again, and lets his body soak up all the warmth and comfort it can get from this moment before the day steals it from him; kicks him into gear.

**1.51 PM**

They are about to go back into the house a second time; the entire team huddled together to discuss the safest path to the second floor of a building that is on the verge of falling apart. The mother and the two kids are already safe, carried outside by Eddie and Buck and huddling in a similar formation near the ambulance, but the dad is still inside, supposedly left in an upstairs office.

Eddie closes his eyes briefly; tries to picture the smoke-filled house that he moved through carefully a few minutes ago in order to find the spark of an idea, something to build a plan out of. He can feel Buck’s hand tapping at his elbow every now and then; another press of it against his forearm and then against the back of his hand. Touches to attract attention, points of contact acting like commas in-between suggestions and underlining ideas as they speak.

They settle on the stairs as a first option; located far enough away from the source of the fire in the kitchen that it should still be intact and stand under their weight. Otherwise the ladder, with one of them going in through the office window. Chimney will be ready outside, will be waiting for their word if they suddenly have to change their plans.

Beneath the conversation, unheard, is now the press of his upper arm against Buck’s, though it feels loud even through their uniforms. There’s a dialogue taking place, a physical confirmation that they’re both here, that the smoke only stole their sights of each other for a few minutes in there but that it’s fine now, that they’ll be fine again.

Eddie carries that silent assurance with him when they run back in. Lets his elbow knock against Buck’s with every other step just to make sure that Buck hasn’t disappeared from his side, that he hasn’t been caught by something vicious hiding in the flames inside the house.

They make it upstairs just fine; part ways on top of the landing and search all the rooms just in case the man has tried to move in a panic. The master bedroom is bad, situated right above the kitchen where the flames have licked the ceiling, made the floor beneath Eddie’s feet creak in protest. He moves across it cautiously; is just peeking inside the connecting bathroom when Buck’s voice comes across the radio, announcing that he’s found the man alive and well and is making his way back out.

Eddie chimes in with his own status. Starts to move back out towards the stairs, over the weakening floorboards, and tries to tread them carefully. He can still hear the floor creaking its protest under his feet, even out here. Is aware of the ominous hissing of the fire as it eats away at the wooden beams that support the entire structure and instinctively takes a step back – tries to change his course towards a window when the floor gives out beneath him.

He falls to the bottom floor. Lands on his back with his vision shifting from blurry to black for a while, until the fire that hovers above and rises at his sides seems persistent in his line of sight again, bright and threatening.

He moves through the pain, manages to crawl his way to a backdoor that is already hanging off its hinges, screaming out its defeat.

**3.12 PM**

Buck places a hand on Eddie’s thigh as soon as they’ve both sat down in the truck. It’s heavy and warm; determined where it holds on even though the rest of him is highly involved in a conversation with Bobby over the communication system. It’s less of a comforting gesture; speaks more of a personal need for reassurance where the force of it against Eddie’s flesh says _I didn’t lose you_.

Eddie studies the hand quietly. The strong fingers, the wide palm, the care that motivates it. He considers the physical pressure and the emotional impact; the unspoken fear that evidently still lingers with Buck a little and makes him hold on to Eddie so tightly. Then he curls his own fingers around Buck’s wrist for further reassurance, for comfort, as the city blurs and passes them by outside.

**5.45 PM**

Maddie and Athena come by with food for them all; smiles brightening up both of their faces as the sense of surprise echoes softly throughout the station.

Eddie is caught by Maddie’s gentle hand around his elbow on his way over to the kitchen area, and finds himself grinning at her when she demands more time with Chris from now on – playfully threatens to make Buck distract him so that she can steal Chris from him if he doesn’t agree. The happiness that lines her entire posture suits her; her kindness as luminous as her brother’s is where it radiates off of her, and it’s so easy to assure her that as long as Chris wants to, she can spend as much time with the boy as she wants.

When he looks up from the conversation, he finds Buck’s gaze already on him, aimed from where the other man is standing a few feet away. Buck is smiling, easing his way closer and then hugging his sister tightly, thanking her for reminding him of what a proper family dinner should look like.

As soon as Maddie is walking away, Buck is turning all of his attention towards Eddie, and he’s positively brimming with that joy, that badly tamped down, restless energy that always pours off of him when he’s excited. It combusts into a hug; makes Buck throw his arms around Eddie’s neck and pull him in as though Eddie is the one responsible for this impromptu family gathering. Eddie finds himself laughing in response to it, wrapping his arms readily around Buck’s waist and breathing in the familiar scent of cologne and safety while he smiles against the side of Buck’s neck.

When they part, his hand drags slowly from Buck’s back to his waist; catches in the fabric there and lingers in the curve of Buck’s body, atop the strong line of muscle beneath clothing and skin where he can feel Buck breathe, feel him thrum with a joy that wasn’t there last night but that has grown slowly since this morning. It feels nurtured beneath Eddie’s hand.

Buck remains still beneath that palm; presses his body against it with his own hand still caught on Eddie’s shoulder. His smile is blinding, his gaze full of light where he looks into Eddie’s eyes, and Eddie finds himself nodding. Smiling back crookedly and pressing his cheek down onto his shoulder, onto Buck’s hand in a quiet confirmation. It’s another quick touch to underscore the rightness of the moment before he straightens his posture again, lifts his head back up.

He uses the hand that he’s got planted on Buck’s waist to push and twist, and marvels in the proof of how blindly Buck trusts his guiding touch, how readily Buck follows Eddie’s silent direction and turns. Eddie lets the hand drop; presses the other one to the small of Buck’s back and urges him forward, towards his sister by the tables, with a smile still adorning his own face.

**9.22 PM**

They’ve just gotten back from another call. A routine one this time, so no unexpected obstacles or awful close calls, but Eddie feels it anyway. Aches, from the earlier fall and from the lack of sleep that is finally catching up with him. He peels himself out of his uniform, drags himself into a hot shower and washes off the debris from his skin. Dresses in station-branded sweatpants and a hoodie, after, and heads towards the bunk room with the sleeves drawn tight over his fingertips.

Buck's fingers wrap around his covered wrist before he can go in, though. Stop him in his tracks, hold him still so easily in the sudden air of anticipation that has derived from that touch alone.

The sleeves of Buck’s shirt are rolled up to the elbows, the way they usually are. Eddie inspects the hand around his own arm, much like he did in the truck earlier; considers the ease with which he could shake it away right now, and then takes it in his own, away from fabric and into the warmth of his own skin.

He rests the outside of Buck’s wrist on four of his fingers, makes the palm face the ceiling and allows his thumb to run gently over the net of veins on the inside of that wrist; its delicacy contradicting where everything else in Buck’s physical appearance stands out so starkly, radiates so much strength.

He moves up higher, inspects those veins where they separate and proceed; run like rivers inside of that body, provide life and work hard to offer blood to that enormous heart. Then he brushes his thumb over the ink that spans across the soft skin. Presses his thumb, finally, to the inside of Buck’s elbow, just beneath the lump of fabric that rests there, and looks up at Buck’s face.

He doesn’t have to fight to interpret Buck’s gaze, because they have spelled out everything that they’ve ever needed to say already. Buck’s hand upon Eddie’s waist right now and his own thumb where it’s still pressed like a dot to punctuate this sentiment upon Buck’s skin are just the latest additions to a catalogue of emotions spoken between them.

It’s obvious that they both feel this, that it has grown organically to become this, to become _them_ , the way they are now. He can feel Buck’s calmness against his own hand; can read the want and affection in the proprietary press of Buck’s palm against his own side.

Everything has boiled down to this. Every touch has taken them to this conclusion, to this set up for a new chapter with different layers. _Fewer_ layers. Eddie thinks of nakedness, of delicate patches of skin and lines of muscle and of the thousands of things that he has not said yet, the multitude of affections that he is yet to press against so many parts of Buck’s body, and he shivers.

Buck’s hand tightens in response, his fingers strong and intent where they dig into fabric and flesh at Eddie’s waist. It’s a response that, along with the heat in Buck’s gaze, lets Eddie know that Buck has once again read him perfectly, and there’s nothing left to do but to surge forward. Learn about new grammatical rules of open mouths and quiet moans; discover new ways of telling Buck that he loves him so that Buck will feel it down to his very core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one wasn't edited, so sorry if it's a complete mess.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://through-fire.tumblr.com/) in case you have a prompt.
> 
> All I ask is that you don’t get angry with me if I don’t end up writing it - I’ve taught myself after years of suffering not to force a story to be written unless the inspiration is there, and sometimes it sadly just doesn’t click.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "If you feel inspired, would you maybe want to write about a kiss? no build up needed or anything, just them in the moment".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in the best headspace at the moment and I clearly took that out on Eddie in this one, but he's got a bright and beautiful Buck to help him fight off his doubts at least!
> 
> Not getting along too well with my own writing at the moment either, so this hasn't been properly edited. Sorry for any mistakes or confusion!

Buck is curling three fingers of his right hand in the neckline of Eddie’s t-shirt, pressing the thumb against the front of it, and tapping the index finger in-between the knots of bone at the very bottom of Eddie’s throat. His hand is a weight, there, hanging off fabric and anchoring Eddie upon the first step of the stairs in the apartment.

Eddie isn’t wearing his shoes, but he’s got socks on and he hates it. Thinks that they’re in the way, that they keep him from feeling the wood beneath his toes. When he tries to curl those toes around the edge of the step, he doesn’t get a grip. Feels loose and unreliable, as though he’ll slip and take Buck with him in the fall because Buck will be too stubborn to let go of him, won’t realize that Eddie will hurt him, too.

There’s friction between his skin and Buck’s, keeping Buck’s fingertip from sliding. Warmth is building there, as though Buck’s fingerprint is a mark that will be seared into him, become his to carry. Not a secret, though, not just for them. The entire world must already know of the feelings that Eddie carries, not just upon his skin but beneath all the layers. He doesn’t really try to hide them anymore.

Buck is lifting his left hand, now, and touching it gently to the side of Eddie’s neck. He moves it slowly over the skin, there, allowing a single fingertip to explore while he watches on curiously. It gives Eddie the chance to watch him, to take advantage of this new perspective because he’s taller here, standing on the step with Buck grounded upon the floor in front of him.

He can observe each delicate line of every eyelash; the starkness of them against Buck’s skin when his gaze is downcast like this. It’s like the fine print of something exquisite, announcing deep love and a care unparalleled by any man, and spelling out complexities that only those allowed this close to Buck will ever be able to unravel. Eddie suddenly wishes that he couldn’t read, that Buck didn’t love him enough to allow him this close and that Buck didn’t trust him so blindly.

Buck is too good, too light, and he holds too much unstained affection for a man who isn’t worthy of it – whose heart is too damaged and entirely unfit to house someone like Buck.

Buck hasn’t cared about its run-down state, though, or the smallness of it. He has just kept fighting to get in there, and he is only one out of two people to stay there willingly after they’ve seen the destruction and the scars within.

Christopher was born in there. He blossomed out of the most delicate part of Eddie and is protected by every ounce of goodness and sense of purpose that Eddie has left in his body; is nurtured by a love so grand that it leaves the rest of Eddie feeling frail at times. But Buck has entered slowly from the outside. Has peeled each layer away methodically. Carefully. He has fought through the physical obstruction of two crossed arms over a chest, and the invisible ones around this damn heart of Eddie’s, and it means that there’s no shell around it anymore, nothing protecting it. Now it just hovers uncertainty by itself in his chest, this tiny source of him that remains.

He’s never been able to use it right, and he hates that Buck is making himself smaller to fit inside of it now. Hates that Buck doesn’t realize that he deserves more, that he should be asking for more than this brief moment in time where he’s standing in front of Eddie, touching Eddie as though he’s something precious. As though Eddie is all he’ll ever need.

Buck’s right hand is still anchored in Eddie’s shirt. He drags a fingertip of the left one up towards Eddie’s jawline, now, and makes a deliciously slow trek along the underside of it. His eyes continue to trace his own movements – brim with fascination as though the lines of Eddie’s body are crucial strokes of a painting that need to be carefully admired.

The stubble over Eddie’s jaw is rough; Buck’s skin isn’t. The way Buck’s breathing hitches as his fingertip is scratched reverberates loudly in the quiet apartment, and the heaving of his chest is visible. When he exhales it comes out shaky, warm against Eddie’s chin and throat. It’s as though the roughness has dug into him; scraped his lungs and made air leak out, made his breathing faulty.

“Be careful,” Eddie whispers, terrified. He means: _watch out for the thorns within me. The shrapnel. The debris of everything I’ve gotten wrong in the past – don’t let me turn you into another mistake, I love you too much._

Buck presses his entire palm against Eddie’s jaw in response, careful but firm, with the thumb slowly stroking over that same patch of stubble and his gaze still steadily tracking his own movements – observing the meeting between something so soft and something so rough.

The reverence with which Buck touches Eddie is lethal. Holds such power that it could break him. If Buck wanted to, he could break Eddie. Open, apart – any sense of the word, any way he’d like.

“No reason to be,” Buck whispers back, heavy with conviction. It sounds a lot like: _I see you. Every part of you. And I know that they all love me, that you don’t want to hurt me._

Then Buck finally looks up at him, and it’s as though this outstretched moment of physical exploration has let Buck see everything; Eddie unfiltered, uncovered, exposed. Buck is seeing all of Eddie, and he’s allowing himself to be transparent in turn. His want is displayed so vividly in his eyes, his affection a kindling fire in the palm of his hand as he waits. He’s matching Eddie with unprecedented patience, his gaze a gentle spotlight to be pinned by.

Buck has seen a lot in his life, he’s been through more life-altering events in the past few years than most people experience in an entire lifetime. He has witnessed beauty and been in the midst of tragedy, has been hurt in every sense of the word and risen from it. Buck knows about love and pain, about loss and strength, and it has all boiled down to this; to this man standing in front of Eddie with a kind gaze that isn’t afraid of what it sees or what it wants. And if Buck can think that Eddie is beautiful, then there must be something to it. Something Eddie has done right. Something about Eddie’s heart that has outdone itself and managed to love Buck right.

He’s not the best at speaking, has never been able to say what’s in his heart and is still scared to try, scared to mess this up. But he knows, now, that _Buck_ knows, and he knows that all he has to do is underscore it, put emphasis on the truth of it. So he lifts his hands and cups Buck’s face with them, curls fingers against soft skin and tilts Buck’s face up to kiss him.

Buck’s lips are already slightly parted, his mouth soft and full and waiting for him. He presses in; takes Buck’s bottom lip between his own and feels the world shrink down until it’s just them, just the points of contact between them and nothing else.

His hands on the sides of Buck’s face. Buck’s knuckles against the bottom of his throat. The palm over Eddie’s jaw and their mouths touching, lingering, pushing the boundaries of time into something abstract, something unnecessary. An irrelevant concept, because the world is gone, now, anyway – succumbed to the two of them and they don’t need time. In this moment they don’t need anything but each other.

He allows one hand to fall to Buck’s waist, and feels Buck’s left one immediately drop from his jaw to follow. It curls around Eddie’s elbow as though to hold Eddie’s hand on his waist in place, and Eddie digs his fingers into Buck’s flesh to reassure him – draws him in even closer as a silent invitation to stay. To live inside this battered heart of his and make it a home. Restore it to some kind of former glory with his light, his care.

Buck’s breath is hot against Eddie’s skin, his mouth bitter from coffee but sweet with affection, and all of him is so easy to sink into, to lose himself in and feel safe within. Eddie licks deeper into Buck’s mouth, allows his own body to be seized by Buck’s hands, and allows his heart to finally try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://through-fire.tumblr.com/) in case you have a prompt.
> 
> All I ask is that you don’t get angry with me if I don’t end up writing it - I’ve taught myself after years of suffering not to force a story to be written unless the inspiration is there, and sometimes it sadly just doesn’t click.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Please write anything about buddie with maddie and chimney's baby! Maybe eddie holding him/her (bc i think we'll get a lot of buck holding the baby both in fanfic and on the show later on)."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house I pictured when writing this was entirely made up for some reason, so let's pretend that Maddie and Chimney moved before the baby was born. And let's also pretend that they were the ones who hadn't settled on a name for her yet so we don't have to blame me for calling her 'the baby' all the way through.

The knock on the front door is quiet. Respectful. Though right now, it doesn’t matter.

The baby has been crying for a solid five minutes when Eddie makes himself known on Maddie and Chimney’s doorstep, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d beaten the door off its hinges on his way in, because she’s already too upset to be disturbed any further.

Buck gets up from the couch and shuffles away from the heart-wrenching noise, opens the front door and gets to see Eddie’s easy and kind smile turn into a soft and private beam when their eyes meet over the threshold.

“Hi,” Eddie murmurs.

Buck is already leaning out of the doorway with a hand secured around the edge of the door, brushing his mouth against Eddie’s while he mumbles out a, “Hello.”

Eddie’s smile is soft against Buck’s lips, his body firm and strong to lean into for this brief moment, these few seconds where they get to balance out in each other’s presence again. Buck has missed him. Has walked around with anxiety crowding his chest all day, the way it always does whenever Eddie is working a shift without him.

He leans back eventually. Tucks the bliss into his own heart and slowly opens his eyes to look at Eddie again. To take him in and ask, “You okay?”

“Fine,” Eddie assures him. He’s touching a hand lightly to the side of Buck’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the cheekbone as he leans back in for another, swift kiss. “Even better now.”

Buck can feel himself glowing under that attention, under the impact of those words, and he likes it. Likes to be bright in Eddie’s presence.

“I’ll just grab my phone and then we’ll go?”

“Sure,” Eddie hums, allowing his hand to drop. “We’ve got some time.”

Buck takes the lead and heads back inside the house – knows that he left his phone on the armrest of the couch. Maddie has come back from the bathroom during his brief absence, and her tired gaze is trailing after her boyfriend and their baby as the inconsolable crying continues on a tour around the room. Buck feels a bit bad for leaving them when they look so distraught – has to reason with himself and realize that a bit of solitude might be exactly what all three of them need right now. He reminds himself that he gets to come around again tomorrow, to hold his niece for another few magical hours and do his best to make her feel happy and safe with him.

He grabs his phone and slips it into his back pocket. Leans down to where Maddie has sat down on the couch and gives her a brief hug, murmuring, “Eddie’s here now, so I’ll get out of your way.”

When he straightens up, he sees Maddie look over her shoulder at Eddie, who’s hovering at the edge of the room as though trying not to disturb the already chaotic bubble in there. A moment later, Chimney’s gaze is aimed in the same direction, and Buck can see when those frantic eyes make sense of what they’re seeing and widen comically with hope.

Chimney starts moving towards Eddie immediately, much like a zombie shuffling towards its prey, and Buck _knows_ that they’re screwed; that they’ll be late for their dinner reservation.

“Aw, look,” Chimney cheers, tilting his face down at his crying daughter, though keeping his gaze locked at Eddie as though he’s terrified that the man will disappear. “A new face that you’re not bored of yet! _Here_.”

Then he’s pressing his daughter into Eddie’s arms, gentle but firm, and immediately easing himself away and out of Buck’s view.

Eddie’s expression conveys a mixture of surprise and amusement as his arm instinctively curls around the baby and brings her in close to his chest, forming a protective cradle for her while he lifts the other hand up to cup the top of her head tenderly.

And it looks so effortless, so easy, so _right_. Eddie immediately starts swaying her gently, his entire body shifting smoothly on the spot to lull her, as though it’s all second nature to him, sprouted from a deeply buried instinct and a part of his very being. Somehow, he’s being an even gentler version of the dad that Buck gets to see around Christopher on a more or less daily basis; lacking those intricate layers of parenthood that a nine-year-old needs and boiled down to pure care and affection.

After a while, Buck can see the girl settle; her mouth pursing into a soundless o, one hand curled up against her own cheek and her eyelids drooping closed. In the growing silence, he can hear Chim and Maddie breathe out sighs of relief from the couch, but he’s more focused on what he’s _seeing_. On this picture in front of him that is so healing, somehow. So beautiful.

Eddie is smiling down at her, already visibly charmed by that little girl, and he’s still swaying, still brushing a hand over head, and it’s _beautiful_.

Then Eddie looks up, and his eyes immediately find Buck’s. He’s still smiling like that – visibly overjoyed and proud, soft and absolutely stunning – and the entire moment feels so fragile, so splendid that Buck can’t breathe through it. He’s got too much emotion stuck in his throat, too much affection blossoming in his lungs, and he hates it, because he desperately wants to breathe this moment in. Keep it hidden within himself where he can’t lose it, can’t forget it.

Eddie has averted his gaze again, his focus back on the baby in his arms, but Buck remains stuck in that moment. His chest hurts from the impact of it, from watching the scene unfold, and he doesn’t care about how obvious he must be, how visibly his affection must shine in his eyes when he’s looking at Eddie like this. It doesn’t matter if Maddie catches on to it, because he and Eddie have been meaning to tell everyone about their relationship for a while now, anyway, and there’s no need to hide it anymore, to be uncertain of what’s going to happen between them. Forever has been an inevitability since the very beginning; they were just slow to start it up, to be brave enough to trust themselves with each other and to trust that they were ready.

The baby is yawning, now, and scrunching up her nose with her eyes still closed. Eddie huffs out a breath of laughter at her and bows his head down slightly to get closer to her.

“Yeah, I’d be tired, too, if I had to spend the day with these people,” he murmurs to her, his smile crooked and pretty. “Your mom is lovely, but your dad and uncle are a handful. Work was all calm and quiet without them today.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Buck protests, because the banter between them is easy; ingrained in his spine. The affection laced around exchanges like these are a source of happiness for him that makes the other, more complicated emotions easier to breathe through.

Chimney waves a hand lazily against the arm of the couch. His eyes are closed, and his head is tilted back in an awkward angle; he can’t even muster up the energy to look indignant in response to Eddie’s words where he’s drifting off into slumber.

“They’ve got the biggest hearts, though,” Eddie goes on quietly, stroking the back of a finger against the baby’s cheek. “You got really lucky with them.”

It makes Buck’s eyes sting, makes his vision go blurry, and he’s almost grateful when Maddie speaks up – grateful to have to tear his gaze away from his niece in Eddie’s arms and focus on something that is less likely to break his heart.

“You’re a baby whisperer,” Maddie is marveling, eyes wide with admiration and framed with exhaustion. Being a mom suits her – feels like something that she and her enormous heart was always meant for – but it’s obvious that these first couple of weeks have been tough for both her and Chimney.

“No, I just have some experience,” Eddie grins. “Besides, she’s an angel.”

“ _Great_ ,” Maddie sighs, though it lacks any real hint of annoyance – is delivered through a smile. “Now she’s got _two_ uncles wrapped around her finger. She’ll be spoiled rotten.”

When Buck’s instinct is to laugh at her, she promptly shifts on the couch and addresses him with a stern gaze, adding, “Oh, just wait until you have a kid of your own, Buck. I’m going to give them the _world_.”

Buck freezes for a moment, then he catches himself rubbing a hand awkwardly along the back of his neck. He has to force himself not to shift nervously on the spot while he glances over at Eddie again, and exhales a shaky breath of relief when he sees that Eddie is too caught up with the baby to pay them any attention.

“Yeah,” Buck drawls, swallowing painfully. “I don’t know about that, Maddie.”

There’s something in his tone that she catches on to; a depth that she dives into and visibly analyzes before she concludes, “What are you talking about? You’ve always loved kids, Buck. You’re telling me you don’t want some of your own, now? Since _when_?”

He sighs. “I don’t know?”

He _doesn’t_ , not really. Though he supposes that it’s something that’s brewed slowly and cemented itself within him over time. It hasn’t been a solid realization until right now, where it’s spilling out of him as an unexpected truth that doesn’t feel wrong, doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

One of the first proper conversations that he ever had with Eddie was about Christopher. He remembers revealing that he loved kids, because Maddie is right about that; it’s always been true. In response, Eddie told Buck that he loved _this one_. One. Christopher. And Buck hasn’t thought about it much after, but he’s carried it with him – has adapted to it as though it’s a part of him that’ll always be there. It doesn’t wear away at him, doesn’t hurt.

Maddie has tilted her head, now. Is considering him with a kind but suspicious gaze that makes him want to shrink away.

“Buck,” she breathes out. She gazes briefly at Chimney beside her before she looks back at Buck again. “You’ll find the love of your life soon enough, and then those doubts will fade away.”

She’s obviously been too wrapped up in their baby bubble to notice the shift that has happened between Buck and Eddie over the past few months; seemingly has no idea of the fact that Buck has already _found_ the love of his life. That he’s started up this whole new life with this man, and with Christopher as the most wonderful bonus, the most completing part of an amazing whole.

He doesn’t know how to tell his sister any of this, though. How to explain to her that he has everything that he never thought he would have, now. _More_ , even, because while he’s always loved kids, he’s never really thought about having any of his own before – his past has been too much of a mess of unresolved, emotional damage caused by his parents neglect of him and he spent years trying to heal himself the wrong way, with the wrong people, in order to feel wanted again.

Now he has Eddie and Chris – has this family that he never thought that he was deserving of. Two people who voice how much they want him every day, who’ve taught him what unconditional love feels like, and he doesn’t see how it could get any better. Can’t imagine a future in which him not having child of his own will feel like a regret.

Eddie cuts in, then, with a gentle tone. Says, “She’s asleep. Want me to go and put her down?”

Maddie smiles at him softly, gratefully. Says, “Yeah. Thank you, Eddie.”

She looks like she’s finally relaxing, now, in the silence that’s spanning the entire home, and Buck instinctively follows Eddie towards the hallway just to give her some space, to allow her some solitude.

He watches the baby over Eddie’s shoulder when they’re inside her room – still hasn’t gotten enough of those tiny hands or the small, pretty features of her face even though he’s spent most of the day here, admiring her.

Eddie is starting to ease the baby away from his chest, now, and her face immediately scrunches up in disagreement with his actions. Rationally, Buck can presume that she’s simply been disturbed by the movement and that that’s all there is to it, but there’s a part of him that wants to wedge itself into the situation. A piece of him that argues that Eddie’s presence is the most calming thing in the world, and that losing it would be heartbreaking for anyone.

He’s been on the verge of losing Eddie completely before. Has been entirely wrapped up in that fear, but has never seen it reflected in anything else, and while his niece isn’t protesting the oncoming loss of _Eddie Diaz_ in particular right now, it’s all he can see mirrored in her discomfort. His own fear of abandonment taking on a physical form and being verbalized for the first time by this little girl.

“No, don’t,” he presses out, quiet and wet, while touching a hand to Eddie’s over her head. “Let her stay with you.”

Eddie looks along the line of his own shoulder, up at Buck. Arches an eyebrow curiously and points out that, “We’ve got a reservation to get to.”

“I’ll call and cancel it,” Buck insists. “We can order some takeout for all of us later, when Maddie and Chimney have gotten some sleep out there.”

Eddie just nods, his smile kind and understanding, and Buck is so stupidly in love with him.

They find a bit of undecorated wall space to slide down against, and they end up sitting on the carpet with their hips and shoulders pressed together. Eddie still has the baby in one arm, and he hooks the other one around the inside of Buck’s folded leg to connect them further. Buck marvels there, under that weight, that warmth, that sense of security. Looks at his niece in Eddie’s arm and loses himself to the moment, the serenity of it, the way it stretches out like an infinity around them.

When he nudges his chin against Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie is quick to turn his head and meet Buck for a kiss, and Buck feels fragile again. Feels like anything could break him right now if it just brushed against him with a bit more intensity than that of Eddie’s lips against his own.

The expression on Eddie’s face when they part is lined with the same brand of joy as he portrayed before, and just as breathtaking to be faced with. Buck allows himself to kiss the smile again, to taste the happiness upon that mouth once more before he leans back a little.

Eddie’s expression turns thoughtful after a while; his gaze considering where it drifts across Buck’s face. Then he asks, “You don’t want a mini Evan running around here recklessly some day?”

He must have been listening to Buck’s chat with Maddie after all. Must have taken that exchange and saved it for later.

Buck shrugs. Doesn’t know what to say, apart from; “You have Chris.”

“ _We_ have Chris.”

This makes Buck blush. He can’t help it; it means that much to him to hear it every time. He averts his gaze to his lap, drags a fingertip along Eddie’s arm over his own leg, and corrects himself; “We have Chris.”

“And what?” Eddie teases. “You’re scared that the next one won’t turn out as great?”

It startles a chuckle out of Buck, and he follows it up with a considering noise that makes Eddie laugh at him in turn, all soft and beautiful.

“I just,” he starts after a moment’s consideration. “I didn’t think you’d want a next one. We’ve never talked about it, I mean it’s probably still too early for us to have that conversation, but—”

“I’ve implied it. That I don’t want more kids,” Eddie fills in, obviously thinking back to that same chat that they had in the truck years ago. He looks back down at the sleeping baby in his arm, then, and adds, “I didn’t like kids before I had Christopher. I still don’t like most of them, you know, in general. I like _my_ kid. I’ll like all of ours.”

Buck’s chest twinges. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s a good kind of pain; something hopeful poking at him in a way that doesn’t break him, doesn’t make him fall apart, because with Eddie he’s allowed to hope, to wish.

“All?”

Eddie smiles. “Well, maybe just one more? Two in total sounds kind of nice. Enough for us to keep track of.”

And Buck can feel himself blinking, with awe lining his entire body. He ignores the way his eyes are stinging once more when he murmurs back, “It sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maddie obviously heard everything they said through the baby monitor, and she definitely fell asleep against Chimney's shoulder with a smile on her lips, yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a fight.

Whenever there was a thunderstorm when Eddie was a kid, he would force himself to stay awake in-between each bout of thunder at night no matter how far apart they came, just to listen. To assess every little sound that whipped through the air in case they were signs of the world ending. A snap of a branch or the wail of the wind as it scratched itself on the corner of the house outside – it all had the potential to be something _bigger_ , something dangerous.

He was expecting the ceilings of the neighboring houses to crack and succumb under the force of the lightning bolts each time his room lit up ominously, and he kept thinking that it sounded like the sky was tearing itself in half every time the thunder roared out there, so he’d lay in his bed with his heart beating rapidly and painfully in his chest, and there’d be blood rushing so loudly in his ears sometimes that it made the thunder sound strange – a bit as though it came from inside of him. As though his bones were breaking under the terrified, forceful beating of his heart while the rest of the world remained peaceful around him.

He refused to fall asleep. Refused to allow potential catastrophes to sneak up on him and overtake him just because he’d let his guards down. He wanted to be ready when the world fell apart.

Now, as an adult, he’s stood in a kitchen, drying plates with a somewhat damp towel while thinking that Buck might be doing something similar. There’s no thunderstorm raging outside, not a single cloud drifting across the sky over LA this late evening, but it’s obvious that Buck is bracing himself for something where he’s lying on the couch, stubbornly staring up at the ceiling in a thick and consuming silence.

He has his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyelids are visibly heavy with exhaustion where he fights them back open every time he blinks, and there’s something akin to childlike innocence in his expression, in the way he’s holding himself together with the force of his determination.

Eddie recognizes it – the deeply embedded bravery that lies in this display, in this refusal to back away from something that matters so much, from something that is so threatening to one’s world. Because it _does_ seem like that’s what Buck is doing; keeping himself awake just to listen for any sign of his world coming to an end.

Ten-year-old Eddie was scared of noise; twenty-eight-year-old Evan is not. Buck isn’t lying on his couch, now, anticipating fearful sounds of breakage, and he isn’t bracing himself for startling impacts of loud anger. Buck is listening for the opposite. He has a past full of silence that has scarred him to the point where the very idea of Eddie’s silence – his absence, his soundless disappearance into the night – would be the lightning bolt that would set Buck’s world on fire.

“Go to bed, Buck,” Eddie says quietly, pressing the towel blindly to the inside of a glass. “You’re tired.”

Buck startles anyway. Seems to have been caught up in exhausted thought amidst all that waiting – had perhaps let the silence infest his mind to a point where he’d already lost himself in it, lost hope of getting out of it. Eddie’s voice is a life raft, an unexpected splash of color in an ocean of grey; possibly too vibrant to make sense of.

“No, I’m not,” Buck grumbles back. His voice is low and laced with a tone of anger that does a poor job of hiding the cracks beneath; the emotional wounds that their fight has left upon vocal cords, in lungs, in hearts.

Eddie shakes his head. Sighs. Can feel tension in his jaw, in his neck, because he’s laced with anger, too. _Frustration_. Has a seed of hurt cradled in the center of his chest that’s spurted out of the fact _that they’re fighting_ rather than the fight itself, because he hates barriers. Hates these painful collisions that happen whenever they discover previously unknown shapes in each other and suddenly have to make them fit into their shared whole, because they’re still learning how to cut away the right pieces of themselves in order to make it work; how to mold against each other in order to make the structure of them even stronger, even healthier, with room to grow together.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, averting his gaze down to the glass in his hand. It mirrors the dimmed bulbs of light in the ceiling high above. Seems to glint at him with a muted hint of disappointment over how this evening has turned out. “Just go to sleep.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” Buck bites back at him. “Stop telling me what to do, I’m not Christopher.”

Eddie can feel his eyebrows raise in disbelief as though they’re reaching for that bait, but he _knows_ what Buck is doing. Knows that Buck is trying to start the fight back up again, add fuel to it and push and prod, because he wants Eddie to yell at him, to voice his anger, to fill the entire apartment up because if there’s anything that Buck can’t stand, it’s silence. He has that past of it that he carries with him, still. An entire childhood and adolescence lined with silences stretched out into a life of cruel neglect by the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, everlastingly, and it has left its traces in him.

It’s not like Eddie is doing this on purpose. It’s not his intention to make Buck suffer when he refuses to raise to that bait and allow the argument to flare right back up again; it’s just that Eddie has built himself up on contemplative silences – has tackled everything that’s ever crossed his path internally until it has physically burst out of him. Processing things quietly is what Eddie _does_ , and their relationship is still new. He’s still trying to figure out how to adjust his own habits to fit Buck’s needs; they still have a lot of learning to do in order to be better for each other so that neither of them will have to suffer from past demons in order to help the other.

They’re not there yet, though. He hasn’t reshaped himself to fit into this particular hole in Buck’s chest yet. He does not know how to be the roaring thunder when he himself still trembles slightly under the unforgiving noise of it at night; how to display his emotions as vividly for the world to see as the lightning does when it rages across the sky.

He lets his mouth drop open. Breathes out heavily between parted lips and forces his shoulders to drop as well; feels some tension dissipate as he sets the glass and towel down on the countertop. He hasn’t finished his train of thought yet, hasn’t assessed emotional damages or regrouped his opinions now that they’ve been bruised by Buck’s opposing ones, so he needs more time. More silence. And he needs Buck to be safe within it.

A few strides take him from the kitchen to Buck’s couch, where lingering annoyance and childlike determination has been blurred from the other man’s expression, softened by confusion as Buck’s eyes have tracked Eddie’s movements. His brow is furrowed, now, where he gazes up at Eddie, and Eddie takes advantage of this display of bewilderment – curls fingers around Buck’s wrists and starts to ease the knot of limbs open over the wide span of that chest.

He parts Buck’s knees with one of his own; lowers it down upon the cushion beneath Buck’s legs and sinks down on top of his boyfriend. Buck is all muscle and tendon, bones and strength and _heart_. He’s safe to sink into, comforting to align with, and his hands instinctively come up to Eddie’s sides to steady him even though the frown remains on his face through it all.

Eddie rests the side of his face against Buck’s collarbone, his hand over Buck’s heart, and exhales slowly into the quiet of the apartment. Allows Buck’s warmth to sink through his shirt; Buck’s scent to fill up his lungs on the following inhale.

He can hear Buck swallow, can feel one of Buck’s hands move from ribs to spine where it rests heavily and holds Eddie down, presses his weight even harder into Buck’s body.

“Eddie,” Buck says, then. It’s quiet. Hesitant. “What are you doing?”

Eddie closes his eyes, tilts his nose down against the bare skin above the neckline of Buck’s t-shirt, and mutters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah,” Buck drawls, with his frown seeping into his voice. “So why...?”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Eddie tells him. “But if I don’t talk to you, there’s going to be too much room for you to think. Too much silence to fill up with ideas that will make you jump to conclusions that won’t be true. So, if I lie here, I’m thinking you might stay still in the knowledge that I’m _just_ mad. That it’ll be over in an hour or two. That I still love you even though I’m not shouting at you. That I’ll be saying it again first thing in the morning, because I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a moment of silence, short but loaded with emotion, before Buck clears his throat and says, “I—”

“Please shut up.”

Buck snorts. Allows another breath of silence to encompass them before he whispers a thick, emotional, “Thank you.”

And Eddie knows, then, that the fight is over. That there’s nothing to contemplate; no reason to cut themselves apart to make a new whole tonight when they already fit against each other so perfectly like this. But he does enjoy the quiet. Marvels in the warmth of Buck around him and in the feeling of Buck’s body beneath his own, so he doesn’t say anything. He just allows Buck to hold him even tighter and listens as Buck’s breathing evens out under his ear, content with the knowledge that fear has dissipated; that sleep has finally been allowed to take over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is pretty sure that he's dying, so naturally he calls Buck.

He usually doesn't have his phone on him when they're out on calls. Tends to keep it in the truck so that it’s nearby in case someone from Chris's school tries to get in touch with him, but still not close enough that it'll distract him from doing his work, from paying attention to the people who need him to be fully engaged with whatever disaster has struck them.

He has it on him today, though, tucked inside the pocket of his turnout coat.

Moving feels impossible. Eddie has to grit his teeth against the pain when he forces his right shoulder to shift minutely over the harsh concrete beneath him; grunts when that alone is enough to make his left side feel like it’s splitting apart from the strain of the slight stretch.

His fingers tremble and it takes him several tries to get the flap of the pocket open. Then they twitch against the edge of the phone and his fingertips slip and slide along it, lose their grip to traitorous blood and tremors, and make him curse under his breath.

A cracked and fallen piece of the ceiling is a few feet above him, grey and cold and unforgiving. It offers no aid, so he closes his eyes against it; feels wetness seep out at the corners but ignores it, and tries again. Wills himself to push through pain to gain another inch, and tastes blood when he finally manages to get a grip of the device.

His breath of relief is shallow; barely carries any air from his lungs but still manages to make his chest shift enough to stir another vicious, fresh wave of pain that makes his vision flash terrifyingly white for a moment, and he hears himself scream into the gloom around him.

Out of sheer willpower, he bends his elbow and tilts his hand so that the screen of the phone is visible to him. He wakens it with his thumb, feels stinging in his eyes at the sight of Christopher on his background picture.

“Fuck,” he hisses out, easing the strain in his neck briefly to bang the back of his head against the concrete beneath. It’s another blinding wave of pain; an additional layer to an open wound, an oncoming bruise that he won’t be alive long enough to prod. It feels insignificant compared to the distance between him and his son. Completely irrelevant when he knows how many other things he’s going to miss out on. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

He smears blood all over Christopher’s beautiful smile when he makes his way to his contacts, blinks through the heavy onset of water in his eyes and marvels at the warmth of those tears when they run down his temples, towards his ears. He’s surprised that there’s any warmth left in him at all.

Buck’s name is at the top of his list of latest calls. He presses it, shifts over to speaker, and feels a seed of contradicting hope blossom tentatively in his chest, under all the debris and destruction. Somehow, in the middle of all the chaos, it feels nice to have a constant, something to depend on. Someone to look to for comfort and support.

“Eddie, hey,” Buck murmurs in greeting, soft and full of gentle delight. “You _just_ missed Chris, man. He fell asleep, like, five minutes ago.”

It makes Eddie’s mind go a bit blank, as though wiping everything he’s ever known away and leaving him clueless of what to do, how to act.

“Oh.”

Buck hums out a tone of agreement. Asks, “Slow shift?”

It was, until Eddie realized. He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been down here, but every minute that came and went without a sign of incoming help seemed to stretch out further and further around him until he felt truly cut off from the rest of the world, soaring in a state of non-being where infinity had seized him. It seems ironic, now, when realization _has_ hit. When a finite end is right there, scratching at the edges of his consciousness. Each minute rushes; he cannot hold on to anything.

Voicing that would be impossible even if he were in perfect condition right now; worrying Buck with thoughts like that is far too heart-wrenching of an idea to even consider. He will not speak of warehouse explosions, of hidden basements and weak structures. Won’t, can’t, has no voice to use to ponder internal bleedings or describe the hot, sticky wetness seeping out from his lower abdomen beneath his left hand.

So instead he says, “Slow, yeah.”

Silence follows, expanding into a full moment wherein Eddie imagines that his faulty breathing is too loud, too overpowering – that Buck’s talking behind it all and that he’s missing out. That it’s already too late, that he’s lost everything.

“I can wake him up if you’d like.”

“ _No_ ,” Eddie presses out. Keeping his voice steady takes effort; uses up energy from a vault deep inside of him that has almost run out, because it is punctured, too, along with skin and flesh. All of him is leaking and seeping out into this hollow nook of time and space where no one can seem to get to him, where nothing can reach him, where the only thing that seems real is Buck’s voice; kind and warm and generous. “No, it’s fine. Let him sleep.”

His voice trembles. His fingers. All of him. He’s already split open by something sharp and heavy, weighed down against the cold floor and pinned into place, but this hurts worse. Letting go hurts worse.

“Alright,” Buck hums gently. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he supplies. He takes another, shallow breath, and has to clench his eyes shut against the additional wash of pain, the fresh dose of it that spreads through his entire body. “Just tired. Like we said – slow shift.”

“Ah. No need for me to turn on the news to keep track of you just yet, then, huh?” Buck murmurs happily. It’s accompanied by the sound of rustling fabric, and it’s so familiar, somehow. Urges Eddie to imagine Buck easing himself down on his couch with a spare duvet while letting Chris sleep on soundly in the bed upstairs, and is the most comforting thought Eddie can possibly carry right now. A reassurance that his son is safe – that he always will be, that he’ll always be loved.

“No, you could just,” Eddie says. Stops. Forces himself not to whimper when his body twitches; his thoughts to stay on track. He holds on to the gentle tone of Buck’s voice and urges himself not to disturb it, not to become the reason why that gentle tone has to shift into sharp fear tonight, not to let anything on. “Just talk to me for a while?”

Buck hums again, considering. Perhaps concerned. “Sure. About anything?”

“Mhm,” Eddie breathes out. He presses his hand more firmly against his stomach; feels the other one tremble around the phone. “Today maybe – what you and Chris have done.”

And Buck does, albeit hesitantly at first. There’s _definite_ concern in that voice; a sign that Buck’s sensing that something is off, though unsure of what. The emotion folds with time, though. Succumbs to gentle layers of awe and happiness as that gentle cadence offers words like ‘book store’ and ‘ice cream’ and ‘that puzzle, you know, with the boats?’ that Eddie wishes desperately that he could piece together into a sensible whole, but it’s a struggle.

His breathing’s too labored; his hand too wet and warm and slipping against soaked fabric. He pictures, dazedly, that he’s lying in a pool of his own blood, now, and tries to make a mental list of organs that might be in danger, and of bones that must surely be crushed. He hopes that something will be salvageable, after. That something can be donated to someone who’ll use it better, be a better whole than he ever was. That the doctors will be able to read the amount of love that he held for his son upon the walls of his heart even though he’s about to abandon him upon a broken promise, now; leave him behind yet another time, but for good.

He sobs, then. Disrupts a soft and joyful recount of what must have been a lovely day with this harsh, ugly noise that’s so loud – so awful – that it must rip the world in two.

“What—”

“I love you.”

Buck exhales slowly over the line. Says, “No.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you,” Buck murmurs. “You’re not doing this over the phone. We deserve better than that.”

“Tell Christopher that I love him.”

“Eddie, what—”

“He’s my favorite person in the world. The brightest star the world will ever know,” Eddie croaks out, forcing down another breath into his lungs, through the thick nest of emotion in his throat. “I’m so proud of him, Buck. Don’t let him forget that – how proud I am of him.”

“Eddie.”

There’s panic in that voice, now, spurred on by dawning realization and spun into the early beginnings of frantic fear. Eddie hates that he did that, that he caused it. All he ever wanted was to make Buck happy, to be good for this kind-hearted, beautiful man.

And now he has nothing left to give him but a broken whisper of; “I do love you.”

“ _Eddie_.”

He wants to answer. Say Buck’s name like the promise that it is, only it’s far more than that. Half of Eddie’s soul and too full of meaning – too heavy – to ever be said fleetingly. His voice is too fragile, all of him spread too thin upon this concrete floor; he cannot do that name justice. Cannot carry the emotion that is attached to it in a tone strong enough.

So he ends the call instead, quietly, with a wet press of his thumb, and allows darkness to consume him while he clings to his own name. To the way it sounded with Buck’s voice wrapped around it, to the warmth of it. This one, miniscule part of everything he ever wanted, but won’t have.

*

He doesn’t feel disoriented when he wakes up; there is no confusion laced around what happened to him. He doesn’t know exactly how he survived, though, and he questions it – wonders what the reason may be and how he’s supposed to navigate this old world that he’s already let go of, this future that he’d resigned himself not to be a part of.

Only a corner of the room is cast in light, lit up by a lonely lamp that is kind enough not to disturb Eddie’s eyes. He blinks at Buck in the chair next to the bed; his gaze meeting a blue one that seems to have been aimed at him for however long Buck’s been sat there. Its icy hues are not cold, never unkind, though emotion twists in there in complicated layers. Fading fear and growing awe. Relief and affection and anger.

Christopher is sleeping in Buck’s lap, sagged against Buck’s chest with his head tucked in under Buck’s chin and his cheek pressed against the zipper of Buck’s open hoodie. There must be a line, there, pressed into the soft flesh, the warm skin. A sign of love planted there by the embrace, by the strong, safe hold of arms around that small back, keeping him close.

Seeing it leaves Eddie far more awestruck than the fact that he’s alive does; witnessing this moment feels better than anything he’s ever experienced before. It’s golden. He’s almost scared to breathe in case he’ll ruin it, disturb it, lose it to the breeze of his own exhale.

Buck visibly swallows. A moment passes them by quietly, in which he turns his head to look forward, out over the foot of Eddie’s bed and at the wall. His chair’s stood a mere few inches away from where Eddie’s shoulder rests on the mattress, and with the way his head is angled, now, it’s easy to see the way the lonely light reflects in Buck’s eyes – the way it catches on the surface of water, of miniscule lakes of vast emotion.

“I knew that something was wrong,” he says. His voice is rough, and the tears dance delicately along his lash lines, seemingly holding themselves back by force. “I knew, and you knew, and you didn’t tell me. I _hate_ that you didn’t tell me.”

He dips his face down, after. Buries his nose in Chris’s hair while the first tears fall and slip rapidly down his cheeks, stark and undeniable – too soft where they accompany the harsh echo of his broken voice.

It looks like a dream to Eddie; his son held in the arms of the man that he loves. A father holding on to a son. The two thirds that make Eddie feel whole. His insides may be fucked up right now, but at least he has this. These two people who hold his heart inside of theirs. No wonder he survived.

“Thought I’d die,” Eddie croaks out. The pain’s still there, and it makes everything feel sluggish and blurry, as though he’s cast in a film and kept out of focus. Not quite real. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Buck repeats, this time with a bitter tone. “We don’t say it.”

“We should.”

Buck looks at him, then. A sharp turn of his head followed by an unreadable gaze and the words, “Not now.”

“No.”

“Not _then_ , Eddie, for fuck’s sake,” Buck hisses. He presses a protective palm over the back of Christopher’s head while another tear takes its leap. “That was unfair.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers. He licks along his bottom lip; feels stinging in his own eyes.

“You can’t die and not tell me,” Buck says, and his voice is splintering now. “You can’t call me and act like everything’s fine – like we’re not about to lose you. You can’t let me talk on and on about ice cream and – and fucking _puzzles_ when you’re lying out there, dying, not letting me help you.”

Eddie has nothing more to offer, nothing on him to give away apart from a repeat of; “I just wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t think I’d make it, that I stood a chance, and it just… felt safe. Like I wasn’t alone.”

He can see the burst of anger fade in Buck’s eyes, then. It ebbs and settles; allows sadness to take over as more tears fall from that gentle blue depth, those expressive swirls.

Buck’s next exhale is wet and loud in the room; heart-wrenching to hear.

“You were hurting,” Buck says quietly, raw with pain. “Dying.”

Eddie flaps his hand out, fighting to seize control of his own body, to push thought into precise movement. His fingertips brush against the back of Buck’s hand over Chris’s head before his hand falls onwards; hangs hopelessly over the edge of the bed in the wasteland between their bodies.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he says with conviction, because it’s true. Because he needs Buck to know it.

“I would have tried,” Buck says, his conviction paralleling Eddie’s. He’s lifting his other hand from where it’s been resting on Chris’s back, touches tentative fingertips to Eddie’s as though he’s unsure that they’ll be met with resistance, with living flesh and bone, and lets out another audible exhale when Christopher’s glasses, dangling merrily from his palm, knock gently against Eddie’s hand in a proof of life.

The nudge of the glasses is what makes Eddie cry, finally. A non-violent shove that proves that he’s here, that he didn’t go anywhere, that he didn’t leave Christopher behind after all.

He tears his gaze away from Chris’s glasses, from their touching fingertips and back up to Buck’s face – smiles through the distorting wash of water in his eyes.

“I know,” he murmurs hoarsely, because he does. He knows it with every fiber of his being, because he and Buck are wired the same way, only Buck is better than he is. Fiercer, more passionate and completely uncaring of limits; will fight the impossible if he meets it – if it’s there in front of him – because not doing anything will be worse than trying and dying from it.

Buck’s heart is that big. Encompasses the entire world. He’s _that_ good.

Eddie swallows roughly. Adds, “But I thought I only had minutes left, and I didn’t want them to be full of fear and reckless reaction – I wanted you to have something good to remember, to tell Chris about. Wanted that final moment to be good. To know that you were safe, there, with him. That you had each other.”

Buck twines their fingers together properly, then. Is still considering their joined hands when he hums, “The concept of safety didn’t make sense to me until I met you. The thought of being here without you again terrifies me, Eddie.”

“You would have figured it out.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Buck bristles, eyes wide and desperate and framed with an emotional shade of pink. “I never, _ever_ want to be in a position where I have to. It’s… If we’re going to do this – say it, embrace it – we’ve got to be better. For him. For each other. And I know it’s hypocritical as fuck of me to say, but this can’t happen again. Both of us need to walk out of every shift whole. This little world of you and me and Chris, it needs to be intact.”

Eddie uses what little energy he’s got left in his body to squeeze his fingers around Buck’s; feels the hard press of Chris’s glasses against his palm as another gentle reminder of where he is, of what he’s gotten another chance at.

He looks at his son, still soundly asleep, in Buck’s arms. Then at Buck, sat there at Eddie’s bedside with his heart pulsing vibrantly on the outside of his skin, unguarded and so evidently branded with Eddie’s name now that fear and desperation has peeled away protective layers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie promises him. Christopher. Himself. And then, because he knows that Buck will say it back – that they’re _saying_ it now – he adds, “I love you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "can you please write something about buck and eddie on an unhurried morning/night, lazily kissing and enjoying each other's company while talking or teasing each other about nothing? just spending time together and being happy!"

Eddie doesn’t always notice the ways in which he has changed over the past few years. The process, as always, has been slow. Internal. Rooted in the way he thinks, the way he acts and reacts in the most mundane moments of every day.

Getting out of his bed in the mornings has become difficult in a way it never was before. As a teen, he was exhausted – stayed up too late and found nothing about school pleasant enough to get up for. As an adult it’s been the opposite. Waking up has had a purpose, and getting out of bed has been one small part of a necessary whole and not something he’s ever questioned, not something he realized could be more - could be monumental. 

The shift just happened, slowly, in the shadow of time, of life. Another person was added to the warmth of his bed and it effectively made the process of leaving so much harder; added weight to what he left behind.

Reluctance twists painfully in his stomach, now, with a sense of regret already fogging up his veins to a point where he feels sick with it, even before he’s made a move. He leans over carefully; presses a gentle, barely-there kiss to Buck’s temple, and swallows harshly as he turns away. He pushes himself off the mattress forcefully and carries the sadness like a seed in the middle of his chest when he goes, when he denies himself the treat of looking back at the scene he’s walking out of.

The house is lit up by a hesitant morning sun, as though the star upon the sky is sensing that it should not celebrate quite yet, that it needs to nurture this home with its warmth before it’ll be ready to blossom into jubilant cheer and to glow. The beams are soft. Gentle. They peer around corners hesitantly; prepared to succumb to shadows if it’s what Eddie needs.

He squints against the light when he moves, though he does not curse it, does not will it to fade. He just starts up the coffee maker in the kitchen and stares blearily at it while it works; listens to its quiet sputtering and curls his toes against the floor.

The mugs are in the cupboard above the machine. He picks one out, sets it on the counter, and fills it. Has only just turned on the spot and is about to bring the mug up to his mouth when Buck appears in the doorway, soundless on bare feet and navigating the room through half-lidded eyes. He’s dragging the palm of one hand over his face, down from the temple and over the cheek harshly, and he looks as though sleep still has him in its clutches. Worn. Tousled. But beautiful – breathtakingly so.

“Morning,” he grumbles hoarsely. He rounds the kitchen table and sinks down heavily on one of the chairs with his back to Eddie, slumping upon it like the embodiment of hopelessness and despair.

“Good morning,” Eddie hums back through a smile, instantly feeling lighter. There’s joy unfurling itself slowly within him, growing along with the sunlight that tentatively brightens the room further and warms the back of his neck through the window. The dread that he carried out of bed has already dissolved and been forgotten.

He watches the line of Buck’s neck, delicate but strong. The broad shoulders, the planes of the back with its dip along the spine. He studies the way muscles move beneath the skin when Buck’s body shifts and pulls; expands around a lungful of air only to retract a moment later. The shape of his waist is slim, inviting, and all of him is poetic somehow. The way he works so beautifully, so silently, is poetic. Something for the sun to truly celebrate this morning.

Eddie pushes himself forward, away from the counter. Stands behind Buck’s chair, close enough that the wood of the back of it presses into his hips, and then he eases his free hand up over Buck’s shoulder, around to the throat where he can press two gentle fingers to the underside of Buck’s chin and tilt the man’s head back. 

His own gaze meets a bleary one, and he finds himself smiling even wider, now, at the sleepy expression of discontent upon Buck’s face. He takes a moment to truly appreciate it before he leans down to kiss the pout of that mouth, to taste that reluctance.

The emotion eases under his own lips – becomes sweeter, and is accompanied by a soft hum, an undercurrent of something nice and hopeful as Buck thrums to life under Eddie’s touch.

After, he draws back slightly. Sighs a hot breath across Buck’s upper lip and then gives it another, quick peck before he reluctantly straightens his back; drops his fingers from Buck’s throat and attempts to find his footing again.

“Here,” he murmurs, finally placing the cup on the table in front of Buck. “For you.”

He goes back to the coffee maker, then, and pours what’s left in the pot into a second cup. Takes a sip with his eyelids fluttering closed against the curious sunlight and allows himself a moment to bask, there, caught in the midst of such beauty.

It’s early – will be chilly outside despite the cheerful sun – and he knows that he’ll need a sweater to go with his sweatpants. Thinks that he’ll shower once he gets back home after he’s dropped Chris off at school, and sets off on a slow route back towards the bedroom with his coffee still secured in his hand.

He’s captured, though, and reeled in by two warm hands before he’s gotten halfway through the kitchen space. Fingers curl around the waistband of his sweats and a palm attaches itself determinedly to his hip, pulling. 

Buck has turned on the chair, now, and is dragging Eddie closer, herding him in between strong thighs and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle. He presses the entire side of his face into Eddie’s lower abdomen and lets out a long, deep breath of contentment once Eddie’s hand instinctively settles on the back of his neck.

Buck seems settled, there. His eyes are closed and his eyelashes are long and delicately sooted against his skin. He could probably fall asleep within a minute if Eddie let him, just like this, and Eddie _would_ stand there. Would become a statue for this man, for his comfort, if only he had the time.

“You didn’t have to get up,” he points out quietly.

“Yes.”

“No, you really didn’t,” Eddie insists. It only takes one person to drive Chris to school; Eddie could have come back and climbed right back into bed, woken Buck up slowly and started their shared day off with the act of them _getting off_. I was a gilded dream, a hopeful bubble that burst as soon as Buck followed Eddie out of bed this morning.

“Really did.”

It’s a protest muttered into flesh as Buck’s head shifts under Eddie’s hand; his face now smushed into skin where his words feel hot and enticing.

“Why?”

“Wanna take you out today.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Hears tones of curiosity and amusement mix in his own voice when he hums, “Yeah? Where?”

“A date. Trip. An _adventure_ ,” is mumbled back to him by a voice that hasn’t lost its thick, rough traces of sleep yet. “Still thinking.”

“Anywhere will be fine, then,” Eddie assures him, because everything’s an adventure with Evan Buckley. 

This moment, now, standing in a kitchen and being held, being cherished, being wanted, is monumental. Wanting and holding; getting to hold back and not being terrified to love, not being scared of the fact that he has another person to lose. Feeling like the span of his arms is wide enough – _safe enough_ – for someone to want to stay within it, it’s _splendid_.

“ _No_.” It comes out disgruntled, and is accompanied by a pinch of a thumb and finger to Eddie’s hip. “Somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums out through a fond smile. “I’ll let you keep thinking, then. Surprise me.”

He feels a responding smile against his skin; the wet-hot breath of a promise as Buck says, “I will.”

Eddie’s not in a rush, he doesn’t need to get Christopher out of bed for another ten minutes, so he lets himself stand there and be held, with his own fingers curled in the hair at the nape of Buck’s neck. Buck’s face is warm against his own, bare stomach, and the cup of coffee is still held in his other hand like a promise of joy and a confirmation of that upcoming adventure, of something worth preparing for.

Then he receives a kiss just above his navel, along with a whisper of, “I love you.”

In the next moment, there’s a swoop beneath the burning remnants of those words that Buck must feel against his own, lingering lips upon Eddie’s skin; the affection palpable and fierce and divine as it races through Eddie’s body. It reverberates between them, charges the air around them instantly and turns the entire atmosphere thicker, heavier to breathe in, as though it’s suddenly full of meaning.

It’s not unpleasant; doesn’t scare Eddie the way it used to.

“I love you, too, Buck.”

Buck moves his head under Eddie’s hand at that. Pushes his chin against Eddie’s abs and smiles sleepily up at him, still with a hint of surprise tinting his affection, as though the words echoed back at him like that is a brand new gift each time, unexpected and treasured.

Eddie leans down. Brushes a parting kiss and so much of his own heart against Buck’s forehead, and then reiterates; “Don’t think too hard about it. Anywhere is fine as long as it’s with you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "if you feel inspired, how about a snippet about buck and Eddie this summer while Chris is gone? literally anything would be great!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where they are in this, I don't know. Imagine a forest and a lake and pretend that it makes sense. Practicalities are no fun when writing, at least not for me.

Buck makes his way back out of the cabin with a persistent stinging along the palm of his hand and stains of drying blood specked over the thigh of his sweatpants. The night has gone chilly and the last embers of the fire have died out in the pit, smothered by Eddie’s expert care.

For a moment, while he readjusts to the late-night darkness of this world that they’ve stumbled upon in the middle of nowhere and made theirs for a weekend, everything blurs together. The immense width of watchful night sky above and the lake unfolding ahead, with the framing wilderness of the forest crowding in around them. It all seems uniform, somehow. Whole and inseparable, with the moon shining down upon the still surface of water and bouncing light onwards like a spotlight, landing softly on Eddie by the edge of the lake.

Highlighted there, like the center of everything.

And it’s so _obvious_ ; a thought so indisputable that it solidifies at once and becomes a fact in Buck’s mind, in his heart. Knowledge to hold high like a torch, fierce and dependable and loud as it hisses its belief within him.

Eddie as the center of everything that Buck knows. A star, a source of light; something to look to for guidance and hope and a sense of safety, of comfort. There’s strength in that body, in that soul. Otherworldly beauty lining Eddie’s entire being, spelled out for anyone to see and feel and be enveloped by if they’re lucky enough to be drawn into orbit around him, welcomed into his gravitational pull. The grip of it around Buck is comfortable. Anchoring. Feels like a badge of honor on his skin.

Buck startles himself, then, out of enchanted thought and back into his own body. He has clutched on to one of the supporting beams of the porch, and his hand is throbbing painfully again; the wound in his palm pressed against unforgiving wood and screaming at him to be careful. With himself, with Eddie, with this world that isn’t just theirs here and now, but that’s theirs always. The formula of _them_ transcends time and space because they’ve figured it out together; found this sense of belonging in each other that they carry with them everywhere.

It _is_ here, though, in the middle of nowhere where everything still seems so pivotal, that he realizes that he _hasn’t_ been careful; that his body is right to chastise him for the way he’s treated these things. Himself, Eddie, and their world. Because he has been standing around in the midst of it, waiting for a sign for so long that it might be too late, now.

Eddie is grand, even under an immense sky. He’s bright, simmering quietly in hues of gold that envelops you completely and warms you down to your very core. And Buck has thrived there, in that warmth. Has, perhaps, taken it for granted over the past year or so – has loved having it and feared losing it and blamed an old ghost for his reluctance to move forward in his life and embrace that warmth fully.

Then the train crash happened. He unchained himself from a heavy part of his past and has stood on the verge of a future for weeks, now, where everything has felt so light and right and easy – where the warmth has made all of him blossom in vivid shades of life again.

There’s nothing holding him back now. No reason to wait any longer or second-guess what has grown in his heart for so long. He needs to leap forward, into that future. Finds no reason within himself not to take a chance on what he knows to be true and right and worth every scrape along the way. Because this is Eddie; this is the one person who understands him better than anyone, who complements all of Buck’s jagged pieces with his own and makes the whole of them feel comfortable.

As soon as he settles in the realization that it’s time for him to act, to be brave, he’s struck by fear. He stands upon the wooden step up to the cabin and takes mental inventory of all the time that has passed, of how the shift between them from friends to something more intimate was slow and persistent and there all along, undeniable. Then he worries, with a sickening intensity, that Eddie might have grown tired of waiting for Buck to catch up over the past months, no longer holding out for the moment when Buck will own up to the unspoken brew of affection between them.

Eddie is turning on the spot, now, treading in careful but confident steps along the short path up to the cabin with the moonlight brushing against him softly, casting a gorgeous silhouette of his body against the dark canvas of the night. His expression is relaxed, his bare feet moving gracefully while his hands remain lazily shoved into the pockets of his shorts. His t-shirt is tight around his shoulders and sits more loosely around his middle; his jaw is heavily stubbled and his hair lies softly against his head, too short to stick to the warmth of his forehead. He looks _good_.

Getting out of LA was a good decision, not just for Buck’s selfish desire to _be_ with Eddie, undisturbed, but because both of them needed to get away for a while; cut themselves off from deeply rooted routines and find a calm. It’s given Eddie something to think about that isn’t Christopher away on his own at camp, and that along with the fresh air and solitude out here seems to have done him good. They’ve spent all day taking turns driving into the unknown, have been caught up in music and conversation and laughter, with intervening bouts of silences that have felt like a home when none of the roads have. It’s been a joy to see Eddie lean into it, melt back against it and embrace it, this reckless idea that Buck threw at him early this morning.

“We should come back here with Chris sometime,” Eddie says when he takes the step up, turning to lean back against the very beam that Buck just clutched on to. “Rent the place for a whole week. He’d love it here.”

_We_. So effortless on its ascent from Eddie’s mouth, so natural, yet it hits so heavily. The word is so full of weight when it highlights the fact that Buck is considered to be a part of that unit, an unquestionable presence in something so private, so tightly knitted. A chosen member of the Diaz family.

The impact of those two, effortless letters lingers and blurs words together in Buck’s mind. All he has to fill the silence with is a hum of agreement, small and quiet in the vastness of space around them. He presses his fingertips to his palm, where the blade of the knife kissed him violently before. Thinks, briefly, that he should have put a bandage over the wound to protect it, but doesn’t want to go back inside to find one now. The idea of covering any part of himself up from Eddie’s warm gaze doesn’t sit right with him.

“There might still be time before school starts again,” he ponders, a bit louder now. “In August, before it gets colder. He should get the chance to swim when we’re here.”

Eddie hums an appreciative note. Nods. Considers Buck for a moment, his gaze ever so attentive, ever so safe to be pinned under.

“How’s your hand?”

Buck instinctively pushes his arm out between them, into the radiating warmth of Eddie’s body. He makes a dismissive sound, because it’s nothing, really. Will heal with time.

Eddie doesn’t lean in to look. Instead, he takes the hand gently in the palm of his own, and presses a careful thumb to Buck’s fingers to keep them from curling inward, against the wound. He glances briefly at the angry, red line along Buck’s palm and makes a somewhat pleased noise at the cleansed state of it, then he’s shifting his hand again – turning it over Buck’s palm and pressing his own against it gently before twining their fingers together. His gaze has already drifted back out over the lake.

Buck assesses him for a moment. He studies the jut of Eddie’s chin and the full swell of the mouth, sweeps his eyes along the slope of the nose, up to the relaxed set of the brows. He feels an amused sense of curiosity simmer within himself, and detects an impressed emphasis to his racing pulse when he says, “That was kind of smooth.”

His fondness spills out with his voice, palpable and lingering in the moonlight. There’s a smile tugging at his lips and joy coursing through his entire system, because this must mean something.

It’s loud, coming from Eddie. A clear statement of his presence, of his patience and of his stillness. He’s done waiting, but he’s still _here_ and he’s offering Buck one last chance to take that final step forward, into the future, together.

Eddie has been so selfless, so attuned to the space and time that Buck has needed over the past months. So kind. And oh god, Buck is going to _love_ him; is going to give Eddie everything he has no idea that he deserves.

Eddie doesn’t know how vital he is to the world. _Their_ world, their space. He may very well have spent these past months thinking that Buck would never catch up or believing that he’d never be good enough for Buck to want him back like that, like _this_. But here he is anyway, putting his heart out there and trusting Buck with it. He obviously thinks that Buck is that special – that Buck is equally safe to be around.

And Buck, breathless, drinks in the easy smile upon Eddie’s face and realizes; “We’re here.”

Eddie’s expression is still so peaceful, with an undeniable dash of happiness lining the corners of his eyes and the delicate curve of his mouth. He’s still looking out over the lake and its forest, humming softly in acknowledgement.

Buck blinks once, slowly. “You knew we’d get here?”

“Fuck no,” Eddie says calmly. He turns his head, and his gaze finds Buck’s at once. His eyes are round with emotion, bright with vulnerability. “Was just hoping, all this time. It’s been scary as hell.”

“I know,” Buck breathes out, heavy with feeling.

Eddie squeezes his hand in response; draws Buck’s attention back to it, to the tangle of their fingers. Eddie’s hand in his own is strong and protective, the knot of bone in his wrist opposingly delicate in the pale moonlight. Buck lifts his free hand; presses a fingertip to that very spot and allows it to explore the soft skin, slow and curious and enthralled.

“We can have this,” he tells them both, watching the point where skin meets skin.

“I think it’s been ours for a while.”

Eddie shivers when Buck’s finger slips to the inside of his wrist.

“It’s that easy,” Buck marvels.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. He seems as awestruck by this fact as Buck is; breathless from these events, from this dream coming true and from Buck’s hand remaining happily in his own. And Buck needs the future to start, then. Now. Immediately. Is desperate to make up for his own idiocy and make sure that Eddie knows how amazing he is, how lost Buck would be without him – without Eddie’s golden glow filling up the vast spaces in his mind and heart.

He lets one hand drop and uses the one still held in Eddie’s to draw himself in against Eddie’s body. Leans in, and kisses Eddie up against the column, soft and certain and _everything_. Eddie is slouching, allowing Buck to hover over him, to press in close and do his best to express all the love that he carries, the wildfire of affection that kindles in his chest.

Buck likes it here. At this lake, framed by this forest and locked in by this sky, with Eddie. Against Eddie, in Eddie’s warmth and under Eddie’s touch. Exploring the intricacies of them, of the world that they make up along with Christopher, is the most exciting thing he’s ever been on the verge of in his life. An adventure he cannot wait to conquer, because Eddie is still there, holding on to his hand; warm and steady like a promise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for "eddie or buck just tucking themselves into each other’s sides and leaning on each other because they fit so well together" and this is slightly based on that.

Eddie doesn’t get used to three AM. He’s seen it pass countless times, for countless reasons. Has been drunk and happy, has been a soldier, a student, and a father. He has been startled awake and shaken through nightmares; has faced himself in the most vulnerable of states and drawn breaths of relief afterwards, in morning light.

The circumstances are less varied these days – it’s almost always rooted in fatherhood or work – but the hour still wraps around him with a startling intensity each time. It feels like a secret around him, as though he’s seeing something he shouldn’t know of and is catching the world off guard as it’s recharging.

He’s standing in the midst of the dimmed scenery of the station now, taking in deep, greedy lungfuls of air in attempt to savor the moment. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get enough of it, that the tired ache of his bones and the dull threat of an oncoming headache behind his eyes will ever beat the sense of tranquility that fills him up each time he gets to breathe a night in like this.

He _is_ tired, deep down. Beneath the fading rush of adrenaline that accompanies every callout, there’s pure exhaustion weighing him down, making his movements a bit sluggish as he zips his hoodie up over his t-shirt and drags his fingertips over the department lettering over his heart. He knows that he should go back to the bunk room and try to catch as much sleep as he can until the next call startles the stillness of the place, but it always takes him a while to settle, to find equilibrium, so he just exhales on his spot. Forces the last dregs of tension out of his posture and breathes in once more.

Looking over his own shoulder is unnecessary when he finally forces himself back in motion and moves toward the stairs. He knows that Buck is following him soundlessly, that they are navigating the raw state of the night together in the wake of the rest of the team. The entire station is quiet, each open space abandoned and reduced to a sparse selection of lit-up dots that make everything feel even more private around them.

When they reach the kitchen, they still haven’t exchanged a single word since they got out of the truck twenty minutes ago, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve always moved around each other fluently, even in silence. In seamless sync and comfort.

They end up standing close despite the excessive amount of counterspace around them, their arms pressing together tightly as Buck reaches past him for an apple out of the bowl. His warmth is comforting as Eddie moves against him, the scent of him familiar and right even when it mixes with the chamomile of Eddie’s tea. His own hand on Buck’s side to nudge him sideways feels natural; the way Buck yields under the touch simply another part of the flow of them as Eddie fishes a spoon out of a drawer, stirs briefly, then drops it into the sink.

When he looks up, he’s met with the sight of a Buck who’s mirroring the exhaustion that Eddie feels. The broad line of Buck’s shoulders is tense with it, his expression drawn into more delicate lines of fatigue that still, somehow, make him look beautiful.

He’s lodged himself in a lazy lean, curled into the corner of the countertops, and is chewing a bite of his apple slowly, watching Eddie back. And it feels safe to drink each other in like this, within the secret confines of a night, as though it will be blurred out and undefinable in daylight later. The last remnants of adrenaline are gone and the tiredness is physically painful to carry, but there’s gratitude thrown into the mix, too, where it’s crowding Eddie’s body, his senses.

He gets to stand in the emptiness of the kitchen and assure himself – his eyes and heart – that Buck is still there. That he got out on the other side of a rough call with his private world still intact and solid, with one of its very pillars leant back against this very counter, now, carrying the same swirls of gratitude in his icy blue gaze.

It’s something to act on; this is something that he won’t be held accountable for in the morning. Eddie breathes in chamomile and faint trails of aftershave; settles himself within the familiarity of it once more and then urges some drowsy part of his heart to fuel him, to set him in motion. There’s only a couple of inches of space between them, and he closes them easily, doesn’t even have to slide his feet over the floor to get there.

The night remains hushed and bleary around them; isn’t tuned into what they’re doing and doesn’t care about the way Eddie’s slipping around and stumbling in it, in his own infatuation. It remains quiet when he collides with a Buck who just draws him in, lets him be a stumbling mess within the span of a protective arm and anchored by a hand over joyful ribs.

They fit perfectly like this. The curves of their bodies, the solid muscles and the soft lines. To lean back against Buck’s shoulder like this, to feel Buck’s chest against his own back, it feels like coming home.

He slides his fingers more firmly around his mug, lifts it to his mouth and takes a sip. The tea is scalding upon his tongue, makes him hiss quietly at his own inability to learn, to be patient.

Buck rubs a thumb against Eddie’s side in a soothing response, calming the spike of self-berating thoughts into a more tolerable buzz of white noise. The exhaustion is more manageable here, too, where the warmth of Buck’s body lulls the ache of it into a more pleasant sleepiness. Eddie hopes that he’s at least half as comforting to Buck, too. That he’s half as good to be around.

He lets out a breath that is heavy with contentment and stares, unseeingly, out across the room, over the kitchen island. Asks, “How are you feeling?”

Buck shifts slightly against Eddie; is taking more of Eddie’s weight when he bites off loudly from his apple again. Eventually he offers a slightly muffled reply of, “Brave, I think.”

Eddie hums a vague note of understanding, of agreement. He can see what Buck means. Can relate to it, to feeling bigger than oneself after a successful call.

“Invincible,” Buck goes on, voice pitched low. “Safe, as though nothing can hurt me right now – not even I.”

Eddie hums again. Feels his own mouth tilt in a fond smile when he murmurs, “You _are_ your own worst enemy.”

Buck pinches Eddie’s side at that. Gentle. Playful. Affectionately conceding Eddie’s point when he rubs over the spot afterwards, slow and reassuring.

A silent moment passes. It stretches out around them much like a cat in sunlight, basking in the deserted space and settling down, content to linger, to be undisturbed. Eddie takes another sip of his tea – not quite scalding anymore – and weighs the pros and cons of staying here, of ignoring his bunk and some much-needed sleep in favor of this. Of standing in the safe harbor of Buck’s body where he can tuck this moment of bliss into his own heart for safekeeping – keep for himself when daylight comes and breaks the magic of it, forces the intimacy to live in the lingering shadows of the night again where no one will acknowledge it.

Before he’s reached a conclusion, he is stirred out of thought by the press of two fingertips against the left side of his jaw. They tap out a quiet, undemanding plea for attention there that Eddie gives in to when he turns his head to the right and faces Buck.

He has to blink slowly at Buck’s pretty face, at his delicately sculptured features, and goes a bit breathless when the intensity of Buck’s gaze finally clicks within him; when the soft static of tension between them clears and reveals itself to be more than a timestamp and an atmosphere. More than a secret kept at bay by the frames of the night.

Buck’s breath washes over Eddie’s upper lip, now, and Eddie’s eyelids shiver closed under the impact. His mouth falls open softly, ready – _ever so achingly ready for this_ – and then their lips finally touch. It’s warm and sure and intoxicating at once.

Buck _is_ brave, indeed. He took that last step; physically turned Eddie’s head and made him see that he hasn’t been stumbling around alone in this infatuation after all. Buck ignored the blurred line that’s been separating them for months and moved them both past it in one pointed step, one terrific swoop. They are here now, together. Past uncertainty and tentative affection, where they won’t look back, won’t _hold_ back anymore.

“Oh,” Buck says softly, after. His voice is brimming with wonder, his tired eyes suddenly alight. “Guess not.”

Eddie manages a questioning noise, slightly dazed.

Buck blinks slowly, then he smiles a little to himself, seemingly still awestruck when he says, “Chest pains. Heart’s too full. _Definitely_ not invincible.”

It makes Eddie roll his eyes, all of him entirely fond. It’s lodged in his voice, betraying him when he mutters, “Sappy fucking idiot.”

Then he leans in for another kiss, and he can feel Buck chuckling in delight beneath his mouth. Buck is pulling Eddie in further, angling Eddie’s body against his own and sliding a hand to the back of Eddie’s neck, still grinning into the kiss.

It’s soft. Splendid. The mug in Eddie’s hand is still warm, and Buck is a home to lean into, and three AM is ever so gentle where it frames them, secretive and entirely theirs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three times Buck thinks that Eddie is mistaking him for someone else, and the one time he finally figures out what's really going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fifty times better in my head and I am very very very Disappointed with the finished result, so let's not even talk about it. Please enjoy more of my _Eddie Is An Avid (Poetry) Reader_ headcanon, though, if nothing else.

**I**

Calling out Eddie’s name across the open space upstairs does absolutely nothing. It earns him no attention whatsoever, despite the fact that all four members of his team are spread out within earshot, among tables and countertops.

Buck shakes his head to himself and moves through slants of sunlight toward the couches, where Eddie is sat alone with the news on the TV muted and his ankles crossed carelessly on the coffee table in front of him. He’s brought a new book to the station for this shift, and he’s holding it with one hand, now, while the other one lies lazily in his lap and waits for the next turn of a page.

Buck has no idea what book it is, but as he’s sinking down in the seat beside Eddie he glances over at the odd spread of words across the pages and assumes that it’s poetry of some kind. Thick and coffee-stained and loved – probably one of the collections that Eddie has held on to since he was a teenager.

Eddie hasn’t glanced up from the page or acknowledged Buck’s presence next to him. He’s still reading, with the index finger of his free hand scratching unconsciously at the cuticle of his thumb while the rest of him remains wholly invested in the oddly shaped sentences.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, pitching his voice to a low murmur in this new proximity, within this intimate bubble. He touches the back of a finger to the side of Eddie’s thigh to emphasize the softness of his own voice and leans further into Eddie’s warmth, but still doesn’t manage to steal the man’s attention.

His bottom lip is curved upwards with fondness when he bites down on it; all of him entirely enamored as he allows himself another quiet moment to just watch, to take Eddie in like this.

Eventually he slides his finger a few inches, curls his entire palm around Eddie’s knee and shakes. It’s too light to cause a disturbance, and his hand lingers for far too long where it’s heavy with affection, but no one is paying him any attention anyway. No one’s going to hold this against him, tease his heart about its yearning ways.

He brushes his thumb over Eddie’s knee. Filters out the background noise of conversation and clanking dishes until all he’s focused on is Eddie’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. There’s something comforting about Eddie’s patience – a reminder embedded in that trait of what Buck is supposed to embody to balance out their dynamic. Less patient, more inclined to stumble down those ways that his heart maps out for him. He doesn’t sit still, doesn’t wait around for things to happen around him. His impatience wins, even over fondness.

So he lifts his hand from Eddie’s thigh and waves it in the air above the open pages, a mere few inches away from Eddie’s face.

Eddie frowns at the disturbance, visibly annoyed before he catches Buck’s hand in his own and guides it out of his line of sight. He moves Buck’s hand onwards; uses his own to press Buck’s palm against his own warm cheek and holds it there while he mutters a quiet, “Just a minute.”

Then he’s reading again, his frown smoothing out and his fingers steady like a bookmark against Buck’s hand, pinning it down as something important to get back to once the minute has passed.

Rationally, Buck knows that this is a Christopher thing. He has seen Eddie do this with his son countless times over the past few years, any time Eddie’s been momentarily caught up with something and wanted to reassure Chris that he’ll give the boy his full attention in a moment. Buck has breathed in the very intimacy of scenes like this _so_ many times. He definitely shouldn’t be losing his breath over it now.

But he’s _not_ rational. Can’t _be_ rational with Eddie’s hand holding his own with such unguarded affection, as though something so monumental is suddenly a second-nature kind of aspect to their friendship. So he sits there, with his hand against Eddie’s cheek and his own breath caught in his throat, and blinks in wonder. Tucks the moment into his heart despite his better judgement telling him that he’s currently being mistaken for a nine-year-old boy, because he’ll take every crumb of a dream that he can find and fuel himself with it, with hope.

Eventually Eddie fits his thumb in the valley between the open pages of his book, saving his place for later. He looks up at Buck, and for a long moment he simply looks expectant. Slightly curious and entirely content in his place next to Buck on the couch, as though he could sit there forever while waiting for Buck to speak his mind. But then his fingertip twitches against the back of Buck’s hand, and there’s suddenly confusion clouding his gorgeous face. His gaze wavers, and his hand finally slips away from Buck’s upon his own cheek.

Without an anchor to hold it in place, Buck’s hand falls away as well, heavy with disappointment and entirely lost on its own.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes out, wide-eyed with a horrified brand of realization that makes Buck’s stomach twist unpleasantly. “Sorry.”

Two quiet words, and they prove what Buck already knew deep down. Confirm that Eddie was too caught up in his book to take notice of who he was trying to reassure, and that his body acted instinctively on a familiar cry for attention – his patient and caring nature spilling out in the form of action even when his mind was somewhere else. The realization that it was _Buck’s_ hand that he was pressing to his own skin obviously came as a shock; hit him unpleasantly and twisted his features into this, into something Buck hates to be faced with.

The confirmation doesn’t stifle Buck’s disappointment, though. It rages on blindly, from his lonesome hand to his twisting stomach, with a particularly sore pitstop in the depths of his dreaming heart.

He has to bite the bitter taste of reality back down and force a smile onto his face before he clears his throat, and says, “It’s fine. Just me, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

It makes the confusion blossom wildly along the eyebrows and mouth upon Eddie’s face again, makes him address Buck with a gaze that is entirely unreadable before he shakes his head; clears the emotion from his expression and moves on from the subject.

“What was it you wanted to say?”

Buck blinks. “What?”

“You wanted my attention,” Eddie reminds him, his expression gone earnest. “I’m guessing you had something to tell me.”

“Oh, right,” Buck blinks again. Forces himself to balance out, to find his footing. “Was just gonna get myself a snack, was wondering if you wanted something, too.”

**II**

Three and a half days later, Buck wakes up to the faintest bit of morning light and an overwhelming sense of warmth. It takes him a while to come back to himself, to free himself of the distorting grip of deep sleep and find his way to a pure emotion, a somewhat coherent thought.

He went to bed uncharacteristically early last night, herded by Eddie’s quiet but assertive hum of care, his instruction to ‘ _just go to sleep, Buck, you’re exhausted’_. He leant lazily against the door frame while he watched Eddie make the guest room up to perfect condition, toothbrush in hand and froth dripping messily onto his borrowed t-shirt.

He could still hear the comforting melody of voices and laughter drift in from the living room when he dragged his feet a final time from the bathroom to the bedroom, but he was fast asleep when everyone else finally called it a night and parted ways out there.

He still has sweatpants on, now, but he remembers sliding the t-shirt back off and throwing it in Eddie’s laundry basket right before he got into bed. The covers are drawn up mid-waist around him, thick and soft against his bare skin, but the rest of the heat is all Eddie. Eddie’s arms around Buck’s middle, and Eddie’s skin pressed tightly against his own. He has Eddie’s head resting on his bicep and two of his own fingers are asleep beneath the weight. He’s terrified to move.

Standing in that doorway last night, after he and Eddie had slipped away briefly from Maddie and Chim, he was too exhausted to overthink the domesticity of it all. There was no energy left in him to comprehend just how easy it was – how comfortable and _right_ it felt – to stand there in Eddie’s t-shirt, in Eddie’s home with the warmth of a drawn-out dinner flickering around him, and watch Eddie prepare for the guests to stay the night. It was as though he wasn’t one – as though he was a part of this home and an unquestionable presence that belonged in the master bedroom, with Eddie.

He’s not tired now. Not sleep-muddled anymore. He’s nothing but infatuated and aching with how badly he wants last night to be more, to be permanent. He wants to have dinners labelled as double dates with Maddie and Chimney on a monthly basis. Wants to go to bed with Eddie every night and wake up just like this, skin pressed against skin, enough times that one day he might not be scared to move and ruin it anymore, because it’ll be his forever no matter how much he disturbs it.

In the here and now that is made up of warmth and a hint of light, Eddie is waking up. His eyelashes are thick and long and trembling as he sighs, and when he shifts his head slightly his stubble scratches against Buck’s skin. It sends a shiver all the way down to the bottom of Buck’s spine; makes him feel raw and sensitive, but safe.

When Eddie finally opens his eyes, he spends a long moment just looking at Buck, seemingly struggling to take the scene in. And despite the dark setting of the room, Buck is close enough to distinguish the slow process of it; how a line of confusion eventually starts to deepen between Eddie’s eyebrows to show his dawning confusion, and how he then starts blinking ever so slowly, as though Buck’s presence in this bed, within the span of his arms, is utterly perplexing.

That look alone hurts – contradicts every bit of hope that Buck positively vibrated with a mere minute ago – because Eddie obviously doesn’t share those hopes and has no such want clawing at his insides, wishing to burst through and blossom into a reality.

Buck can feel Eddie’s fingers twitching against his stomach, and then Eddie is leaning back and away from Buck, taking so much warmth with him.

“Oh, shit,” he’s saying quietly. “Sorry.”

His voice is thick with sleep, and his collarbones are delicate, and his eyes are bleary and he’s _so fucking handsome_ , even in this shitty lighting. He’s still looking over at Buck as though he suspects it all to be a dream to shake off later, all while Buck lies trembling in the lonesome realization that he’s not what Eddie wants, that his presence is a disappointment for Eddie to wake up to.

He figures that this is a case of Eddie’s subconscious once again acting on its own and assuming that the warm body beside his were someone else. The memory of Shannon may still be embedded in those strong hands, or perhaps the desire for a new love interest is still so fresh in that mind of his that it made him go after what he longed for even in sleep. It doesn’t really matter – still hurts all the same to think about, to be the unsatisfactory part of.

“Yeah, sorry,” Buck forces out, wincing when his voice cracks. “Just me again.”

It makes Eddie frown again, his eyes dark and entirely unreadable now that he’s pushed himself away from Buck on the mattress.

“What—” Eddie starts, though he closes his mouth again. Shakes his head and drags a hand across his face, sighing. A moment later he makes a disgruntled noise into the palm of his hand, and when he finally lifts it from his pretty face, his features are drawn into a grumpy expression that would be entirely adorable if the cause of it wasn’t so heartbreaking, such a reminder of the fact that Buck doesn’t belong here.

He watches as Eddie turns around, shoves an arm under his pillow and curls his body away from Buck. Presses a palm to the seemingly endless amount of space that spans out between them, now, and hates how uncomfortable his body feels without Eddie’s arms weighing it down. He can’t imagine how he’s supposed to keep his own fingers from reaching out for Eddie’s body to reconnect them now that he’s not anchored by anything anymore. Can’t see how he’s supposed to fall back asleep in this bed when he knows that he’s no longer wanted in it.

**III**

The next Friday, Buck lets himself in to Eddie’s house at six in the morning, carrying takeaway cups of coffee in his hands and a tired but happy smile on his face. He only managed to slip into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in-between hanging up the phone and getting out of his apartment, so he steals the first hoodie he sees from the back of a chair in the kitchen, and breathes in the familiarly mismatched scents of a complete home from fabric and house at once while he watches Eddie move around the room.

Eddie looks tired. He has a worried set to his mouth that overpowers the determined look in his eyes as he moves a plate with a half-eaten sandwich to the sink and turns the tap on to fill up a glass with water.

“Managed to get him to eat half of that,” he’s saying, throwing a quick glance at Buck over his shoulder. “Not the easiest thing I’ve done, but it meant I could give him something for the fever.”

Buck pulls the sleeve of one arm over his knuckles; picks his coffee cup up with the other hand and asks, “Where is he?”

“Couch,” Eddie says. “If we’re lucky he’ll get a few hours of sleep now. He’ll probably want to watch a movie later – usually does when he’s sick. He’s still big on dinosaurs, but just… stay away from the cursed one. You know.”

Buck snorts. He _does_ know; he was there when Chris watched The Good Dinosaur for the first time and had a complete breakdown when the dad died. It was heartbreaking to watch – the memory of it still remains lodged like a splinter in Buck’s heart.

Eddie looks at him, then. His head is slightly tilted, and his eyes are big and warm and full of a gratitude so overwhelming that Buck wants to kiss him.

“I know this is probably the last thing you want to do on your day off,” he’s saying, moving away from the sink with the glass of water still in his hand. “Abuela’s back home tonight and I’ll tell her to take over for you as soon as she can, but it’s—”

“Don’t,” Buck cuts in. “For fuck’s sake, Eddie, I love him. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of him until you come back so just let Isabel take it easy once she’s back from her trip. She doesn’t need to worry. _You_ don’t have to worry.”

“I know I don’t,” Eddie murmurs, then. It’s raw and honest and full of conviction. Rings true as it ebbs out in the room. “It’s you. But still – thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Buck tells him, grinning. “Just go to work and have a dreadful time without me.”

It makes Eddie smile back at him, wide and bright and beautiful. He shakes his head, and mutters a quiet _idiot_ as he walks out of the room.

Buck follows him to the living room, where Christopher is lying back against a couple of pillows, with a light blanket tucked around him. He’s already fighting against heavy eyelids.

Eddie crouches next to the couch, touches a big palm to a small cheek and urges the boy to take a sip from the glass. Buck can’t distinguish any of the words that follow, but Eddie’s tone is reassuring and laced with love; the hum of it gentle to listen to as Buck watches the exchange between father and son.

It’s beautiful, still, to watch Eddie like this.

There’s a parting kiss to a clammy forehead, after, and then Eddie is pushing himself off the floor. He rejoins Buck by the doorway and guides them onwards, back to the kitchen and the pile of his sweater and duffle bag on a kitchen chair, muttering, “My shift ends early tomorrow morning, I’ll probably be back—”

“Just after eight,” Buck fills in. He rolls his eyes fondly, and bites back any revealing comment about how he has all of Eddie’s schedule memorized, how he holds a grudge against this very shift for being one of very few that they don’t work together. “ _I know_. It’s fine. We’ll be fine until then – I’ll text you updates.”

Eddie laughs at that. Says, “I know, you’ve got this. You always do. Just – old habits.”

He slips his sweater on. Takes his bag in one hand and uses the other to accept the coffee cup that Buck nudges his way, humming gratefully. His eyelashes fan out beautifully against his skin when he closes his eyes over a sip of the coffee, and Buck doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to fall out of love with this man, with the sense of home that this man makes the very foundation of.

Eddie checks his watch, then, and curses under his breath when he sees the time. He moves forward with one long, rushed step and is suddenly pressing a murmur of goodbye against the skin of Buck’s cheek, punctuated with a proper kiss there before he’s gone again.

Buck has seen this happen many times before. Has been stood on the sidelines, watching, as Eddie has left his son in Isabel Diaz’s kind hands and pressed a parting kiss to her cheek before they’ve headed off to the station together. _Old habits_ , indeed. Something so deeply worked into Eddie’s system that he does it instinctively, especially under stressed situations like this one.

Buck is still not a rational person when it comes to love, though. He still cannot bring himself to listen to the sensible reasonings of his mind, but simply remains stood in the wake of Eddie’s warmth with his own fingertips pressed to the lingering sensation of Eddie’s mouth on his cheek.

And he has instincts of his own, rooted in his affection. Is lovesick and cannot think, cannot stop himself from murmuring a quiet, yearning, “ _Eddie_.”

Though it’s still loud enough, somehow, to stop Eddie in his tracks on the way to the front door; enough to pull him back. It seems to bring Eddie out of his rush, out of the streaky blur of fatherhood and work and into the reality of this house, of this home, where his body just moved without him, cracked Buck’s heart and left.

Suddenly, the frown is back. The now familiar, confused pout of a mouth that was so soft and stretched with happiness against Buck’s cheek a mere moment ago. And with it comes that dreadful hum of, “Oh, shit. Sorry. I just don’t fucking _think_ , do I?”

And Buck gets it – has already understood that these moments aren’t born out of conscious decisions but that it’s simply a matter of Eddie’s body consistently tripping him up, but it _still_ hurts a little. A lot. To know that he’s the wrong person for the person that is so right for him. It’s still painful to know that there are people in Eddie’s life that he loves with his entire body, on a level so deep that it spills over into everything he does, and that Buck simply has to remain on his sideline and catch the aftershocks of it, pretend not to be shaken each time.

He watches Eddie turn towards the front door again. Gets a crooked smile aimed at him from over Eddie’s shoulder that doesn’t seem right. It looks forced and entirely wrong among Eddie’s gorgeous features, and it digs its way in beneath Buck’s skin and sits uncomfortably there for hours, after, while he watches over Chris’s fever-ridden dreams with a hand curled around the boy’s ankle.

**\+ I**

Isabel more or less pushes them out of her home the next evening, with a significantly perkier Chris laughing and waving at them from behind her. The two of them are laughing, too, as they make their way back to Buck’s car, and any guilt Eddie may have been carrying about missing out on a second night of taking care of his sick child seems to have been eased as they get back on the road.

It’s been a good day. Eddie bought breakfast on his way home from work in the morning, and then preceded to nap through three fourths of Moana, with Chris in his arms and his feet tucked under Buck’s thigh. Buck took photos. Curled the same hand around a new ankle and held on, held precious breaths to make sure that his heart got a taste of them before he had to let go again.

He feels light, now, as they’re walking lazily through the early-evening bustle of LA’s streets. He has felt so perfectly at ease all day that his body doesn’t quite feel like his own anymore, his heart too content in the orange glow of the city, where the sunset bounces off the windows and casts the streets in soft hues of warmth.

They’re early for dinner – aren’t supposed to meet up with their friends for another half an hour – so they’ve got time to drag their feet like this. To weave slowly in and out of conversation, to make each other laugh.

Eddie is talking about baseball, now. He’s halfway through the story about his six-year-old self feeling small at his very first game, and it’s the most precious thing to listen to – something Buck carefully collects every detail of and saves within himself, because he’ll want to remember this. How soft Eddie’s voice is and how pretty his smile is when his eyes are reflecting the sunlight like this; Buck wants to keep it all for himself.

But they reach a crossing, and while Eddie’s still talking expressively about the scent of hot dogs and the buzz of excitement simmering in that stadium, he’s reaching his hand out blindly to the side. Buck can see Eddie turning his head left and right to watch the passing cars, can feel Eddie’s fingers brushing against his arm, curling around the inside of it and sliding down to the wrist, and then Buck doesn’t hear anything anymore. The only thing he can focus on is the way Eddie is tugging Buck’s hand out gently from the confine of a trouser pocket and fitting it in his own.

Then Eddie is marching off across the street. And Buck, ever so awestruck, is hauled carefully after him, his palm safe in Eddie’s hand.

He can tell that Eddie is still talking, can tune in to the comforting cadence of Eddie’s voice but fails to distinguish a single word, because his hand in Eddie’s caring one is deafening. The two of them touching is deafening, even after all this time, because every touch is new. Every touch hits Buck differently. And this time it feels protective.

They get to the other side of the street and step up on the sidewalk, and their palms are still pressed tightly together; their fingers still entwined as Eddie guides them onwards.

Softly, nearly swallowed up by the city noise around them, Buck says, “Eddie.”

Eddie slows his step down further, and looks along the length of his own shoulder, over at Buck. There is an open and curious set to his features, as though he’s eager to hear what Buck has to say – no confusion whatsoever embedded in that expression to show that he’s surprised to see Buck by his side.

He’s not mistaking Buck for Christopher this time, despite the protective nature of his gesture. His body didn’t act out on its own accord, without input from his mind. Buck’s name is upon Eddie’s tongue right now – their bodies present and in line with each other upon this street – and Eddie isn’t surprised to see him. Wasn’t expecting Chris or anyone else to stand beside him when he glanced over.

Perhaps, he never did.

In Buck’s contemplative silence, Eddie has the time to take the scene in. His gaze drifts from Buck’s as though it has been startled into movement by Buck’s quizzical expression, and it travels down from Buck’s face to assess the situation. Lands softly upon their locked hands, where his beautifully expressive eyes widen with realization.

 _That’s_ when he starts to frown, to pull his hand back, to move his lips around a nearly soundless, “Oh, I’m—”

“No,” Buck cuts him off decisively. He tightens his fingers around Eddie’s to make sure that their hands can’t part, that this thing between them can’t escape once more. “Don’t.”

Eddie blinks at him; doesn’t seem to understand.

It’s obvious now, though, upon this busy street where the sunset is echoing its warm hues upon Eddie’s cheeks, what’s been going on all along. And Buck feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner that this is what Eddie _does_ ; that this is how Eddie loves.

Wholeheartedly, and with his entire body. Eddie’s affection is precious and hard-earned and instinctual; it reveals itself in unspoken gestures whenever it can, whenever it can rush ahead of doubt and thought and express what’s in his heart.

“What were you saying?” Buck prompts, now, with a gentle squeeze of his fingers around Eddie’s. His own heart is trembling with joy inside his chest. “About the game – something about your dad?”

Eddie blinks at him again. Takes his time reading Buck’s body language and translating it before he realizes that they are in sync, now, with the same loving fuel running in their bones, and with their hearts set on the same future. Then he smiles up at Buck, full of hope and achingly beautiful. He tugs gently at Buck’s hand again – sets them back off on their trek down the street.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. He lifts their hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of Buck’s. “Want to stop for a drink somewhere before we join the others? Just you and I.”


	12. Chapter 12

Eddie doesn’t sleep much. He has felt off, somehow, ever since the conference first started. Calm and collected on the surface, but entirely unsettled beneath.

He has walked around with a sense of wrongness embedded in his chest all day, navigated brief but intense conversations with stranger after stranger who have all talked openly about work and war and everlasting fights against opposite sides and nature and the very self, and Eddie has found himself wholly unsettled by it.

He had to stop responding a mere couple of hours into the day – found himself struggling to steer each conversation about similar pasts overseas into other topics and fell over his own steps and his own past, over and over again, until Buck finally took one long, knowing look at him and stepped in. Propped him up; straightened out his step and placed himself one ahead. Eddie spent the entire afternoon with his shoulder brushing against Buck’s shoulder blade and was grateful for the determined way Buck took the helm; guided them both through every mingling session in-between scheduled events with ease.

He doesn’t think much, now. Doesn’t battle against one particular emotion that can label what he’s going through while the hours of the night pass him by restlessly; he just lies there. Floats in a state of unbalance and fails to settle down.

It’s new to him. Isn’t boiled down from nightmares or the stress of being good enough for the people that he loves. No, this time it’s sprouted from an anxiety that he cannot put his finger on – a matter of his past and present clashing, leaving him staggering in the aftermath with no idea of how to move forward, how to be a complete version of himself.

Buck sleeps soundly beside him; his breathing even and deep and comforting to listen to. He’s an anchor and a placemark, serving as something for Eddie to look at while the sky outside shifts from an exhausted darkness into a gloomy dawn.

Eddie himself lies flat on his stomach, with both his arms curled against the mattress and pinned beneath his own weight. His right hand is curled tightly against the side of his chin, the knuckles resting against his mouth where they press his lips into an unfamiliar, possibly unflattering, shape.

His own breathing is a bit shallow. There’s an emotional rip in a lung that’s keeping him from filling up sufficiently with air, but he struggles on. Tracks the movement of Buck’s bare chest and admires Buck’s face as he sleeps. Finds comfort in the soft lines, the gentle beauty that they make up, and savors the warmth that encompasses the entire bed when Buck is in it, radiating it like an everlasting source.

 _A home within another person_ , Eddie ponders. How grand.

He exhales against his own knuckles, allows himself to sink deeper into the mattress, and appreciates the comforter around his body, the pillow beneath his head. Blinks slowly over aching eyes and allows the morning to develop in hushed tones of warmth around them.

When Buck wakes up, hours have passed, and time has stretched out to a thin and transparent layer in the room, allowing more of the morning light inside. The man flutters his eyes open slowly, eyelashes long and delicate where they sway, and his gaze is bleary when it takes in Eddie’s form in front of him.

His foot twitches where it’s been hooked like an anchor around Eddie’s ankle all night, as though Buck has sensed even in sleep that Eddie has needed it, has needed him. Then Buck smiles, seemingly still amazed by the sight of Eddie next to him in bed, still in awe of every morning spent like this, breathing each other in.

Buck keeps looking at Eddie, his eyes attentive and his heart perceptive where he reads Eddie’s lines, his features and gaze. He has learned how to interpret Eddie over time, and these days Eddie is more ready to allow it. He has spent the same amount of time learning that it’s good to be open, that it’s okay to let Evan Buckley in, because all he’ll get in return is endless support and care.

They lie like that for a long time. Quiet, and framed by affection.

Eddie can feel the wrongness yield within him, can feel it lifting from his bones and dragging cautiously over his skin in slow tendrils until it’s a mere grey cloud hovering tentatively above him.

His breathing is slow, now, and synced up with Buck’s. It’s filling him up better now that the tear in his lung has been soothed and repaired with the slow drag of time. He likes the melody of it, of them together like this. Likes the feeling of Buck’s fingers resting against his hip beneath the covers, the manifestation of _now_ that they spell out there, where nothing else matters but them and the way that they fit together so perfectly.

“Breakfast?” Buck proposes eventually, voice pitched low and rough with remnants of sleep.

Eddie twitches his head against the pillow. It’s an imperceptible _no_ that still manages to shift his hand somehow; makes his lips part under the added pressure of his knuckles and makes the odd shape of his mouth even worse. _Perhaps unrecognizable_ , he thinks, _and entirely ugly._

Buck makes a noise in response, soft and calming where it rumbles all the way from his chest, and whispers, “Okay.”

The way Buck moves is louder. He bridges the short distance between them clumsily with his own upper body, and kisses the strange shape of Eddie’s mouth with tender conviction. It makes it feel less disproportionate; suddenly infused with purpose, worthy of love.

Eddie has to fight his eyelids open, after. Takes a trembling breath and watches as Buck gets out of bed. The man’s all lean lines and strong muscle where he bends down to fish discarded bits of clothing from the floor, his skin taking on a golden sheen where he hitches black jeans up over his thighs and hips in the first tentative rays of morning sun.

The shirt that he drags over his head has long sleeves and isn’t his, but it looks good on him. Frames all the beauty nicely and brands Buck in a way that makes sparks of pride flare warmly in Eddie’s belly. The sensation fights back the feeling of wrongness another fraction; battles side by side with the layer of Buck’s touch that still frames the shape of his mouth and makes him feel more composed, more real.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Eddie does another barely-there acknowledgement, and then he thrives in the smile that Buck aims his way before he leaves. Lets it settle over his skin as he closes his eyes and presses his cheek deeper into the softness of the pillow.

He drifts in that same state of non-thinking when Buck has left. It’s less restless now, but he refuses to open his eyes and look at the wide, abandoned space next to him on the bed because he knows that it will make him feel uncomfortably small. Untethered and on the verge of disappearing. Instead, he breathes in the faint scent of Buck that clings to the sheets, and waits patiently for the only person in the world that he’s ever been brave enough to expect back; the only person who’s ever given him a reason to believe in it, in a shared future.

He doesn’t have to wait long until he hears Buck’s unmistakable shuffling in the hallway outside again; his voice sounding bright and happy even through the door while he struggles soundly with the handle.

He’s back far earlier than Eddie had expected, and it makes Eddie wonder if Buck may have eaten while walking along the buffet, if he perhaps snuck his way through throngs of other conference guests like a ninja, stole pieces of food from here and there, and then stood in the elevator back up still chewing pieces of on-the-go bread and cheese.

There’s a faint chirp as the lock surrenders to a key card, and then the door is opening up. Buck is still chattering away happily as he enters the room, and he’s holding a brown paper bag with the logo of a nondescript café printed on it in one hand. The other one’s clutching his phone, its screen facing him from an awkward angle mid-air. His sunlit smile broadens even further when laughter rings out from the device in response to something he’s said, and Eddie’s chest clenches around an overflowing heart as he takes the scene in silently.

Breakfast, and Chris. His world coming together right here, with Buck as the gravitational pull of it all, attracting each vital piece into a whole that Eddie just… gets to bask in. Keep as his. And that thought alone is enough to make him smile into his pillow, and there’s awe framing his vision as he watches Buck nudge the door closed and come over; sink down upon the mattress and fill up that empty space next to Eddie with warmth again.

“Hey, Chris,” Buck murmurs, then. His voice is quieter now – gentler – but his eyes sparkle with deafening affection where he gazes at the screen of his phone. His hand, settling gently against the side of Eddie’s neck, is heavy with care. “Your dad’s still sleeping, okay? So I won’t wake him up to say hi. But he loves you.”

“Buck!” Chris laughs on the other end. “I _know_ that.”

 _I know that_. Simple as that, as though it’s a universal truth that Eddie Diaz loves his son. As though Eddie Diaz hasn’t spent the past ten years trying to prove it – trying to prove that the love that he holds for his son is enough – to his parents, to school staff, to co-workers, and to _himself_.

Meanwhile, Christopher and Buck have known it all along; they haven’t doubted that love for a second, and it’s clear to Eddie, now, that they won’t let him doubt it anymore either.

“Of course you know,” Buck hums, full of melody and warmth. He’s glancing down at Eddie briefly, his eyes soft with emotion while his grin remains wide in front of the camera, for Chris’s sake. “He’d never let you forget it.”

It’s a lot to take in. The moment holds so many layers, and the process of uncovering them brings tears to Eddie’s eyes, because he’s never had this before. Has never had someone to depend on like this; never had anyone in his life who has forced him to put himself first the way Buck is doing right now.

Eddie has had to be strong for so many years. He has spent every waking hour of each day actively working to give his son the best life possible, and it has meant that he has pushed everything else to the side. He has pushed himself so far down on his list of priorities that he’s ended up here, now, motionless in a hotel bed in the wake of harsh meeting with his own, unresolved past, where Buck has had to step in and guide him through it all.

But that’s the essential part of it. _Eddie has Buck now_ ; he isn’t alone anymore

Buck is sat next to him, his hand on Eddie’s skin and his affection blossoming in vivid shades all over the room. From his quiet understanding of how Eddie works, he has made a plan and carried it out; has taken Eddie out of the equation and added himself into it.

Right now, he’s forcing Eddie to be himself. A man, a human being with demons, someone responsible only for his own well-being, just for a morning. In the meantime, he’s gladly stepped into the vacant spot and has taken it upon himself to scream Eddie’s love for his son from proverbial rooftops to prove that it won’t go away just because Eddie rests his own voice for just a moment. That it’s okay for Eddie to catch his breath; that he has someone to lean against, now, whenever he lets himself falter.

And back home there’s Chris, waiting patiently for him – saying that he _knows_ , as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As though his father’s love is unquestionable; something the entire world must already know about.

In-between them lies Eddie, amazed.

From beyond the edge of this splendid realization, he can hear Buck wrapping up the call with affectionate notes and promises of seeing each other soon, of bringing back gifts. A moment later, Buck is settling his phone on the nightstand and lifting his breakfast bag up from the floor and onto the bed.

He does a noisy rummage in the bag, and brings out wrapped bagels, bottled juices, and two takeaway cups of coffee that have somehow made it safely from the café to the hotel, standing stainless and proud in their little cardboard home. As he settles in to eat, he presses his knee against the curve of Eddie’s body beneath the covers, every line of his own body relaxed where he sits.

Eddie watches on in silence, with fondness filling up the last few hollow spaces of discomfort within him, as crumbs fall from Buck’s bottom lip and land among the sheets upon the mattress. He knows that Buck will hate that when he’s finished – that he’ll whine about it being uncomfortable as soon as he takes notice of it – and can’t help but smile crookedly against his knuckles.

Buck is watching him in return, smiling back. He looks hopeful and bright when he opens his mouth mid-chew to ask, “Want some?”

Eddie keeps smiling, settling into the blossoming warmth of this long morning and basking in the glow of Buck’s presence. He lets out a quiet rasp of, “Soon.”

“Later’s fine,” is all Buck hums back, lacing his voice with the same brand of understanding that gleams softly in his eyes.

He brushes the back of his hand over his mouth when he’s done; lowers the bag with its remaining food to the side of the bed and throws away the discarded wrapping and napkins. When he settles back on the bed he makes a disgruntled noise, frowning down at hands that are pressed palm down onto the mattress, at fingertips that are flexing against a textured surface.

Eddie bites down on the fond curve of his own bottom lip, allows a joyful breath of air to fill his lungs and exhales slowly before he murmurs an offer of, “Come here.”

Buck looks over at him, his frown melting away under the warmth of another hopeful smile. He crawls over on all fours and doesn’t hesitate before he’s crowding in close in Eddie’s personal space, arm slung over Eddie’s back and his own nose nudging the tip of Eddie’s.

Eddie is still smiling when he tilts his head up along his pillow and fits his mouth to Buck’s. He can feel another exhale tremble its way out of his nose at the contact; ever so amazed by how thrilling it feels each time they kiss.

This time it’s slow and tender. Grounding, allowing Eddie to feel whole under Buck’s touch. He lets himself be pushed up from the mattress and dragged into the curve of Buck’s body, trusting Buck with every miniscule part of himself and sinking into the bliss of each sensation, each shiver that trembles along his spine.

They lie in that crumb-free sliver of space together, kissing, for a long time, with Eddie’s body tilted fully against Buck’s where both of them rest on their sides. Buck’s arms are curled tightly around Eddie’s middle, while Eddie’s own arms and hands are enclosed within the frame that their bodies make up, trapped against Buck’s chest, now, instead of the mattress. It feels a lot like safety.

Eventually he forces himself to take a proper breath of air again; opens his eyes and is met with Buck’s blue, blue gaze.

Their mouths are still brushing when Eddie rasps out, “When is it we have to check out? I mean, are we in a rush?”

Buck kisses him again, swiftly. Brushes his thumb along the line of Eddie’s spine and says, “I booked us in for another night here when I passed by the reception desk on my way out earlier. We’re definitely not in a rush.”

“What?”

Buck’s smile is gentle. Proud. Entirely beautiful, as always.

“Neither of us are working until Thursday,” he explains. “Maddie and Chim were thrilled to have Chris staying with them for another night, and Chris was excited about it, too. That’s why I was talking to him when I came back in – to make sure he was okay with it.”

When all Eddie does in response is blink owlishly, Buck adds, “Staying in a hotel just to go to a conference and then go back home again isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic getaway, but I wanted us to have that. Some time for us, to just be.”

Eddie still doesn’t know what to say. He makes a noise at first, low and full of wonder, and his voice is tremoring with emotion when he finally manages to murmur, “Yeah?”

When Buck nods, the tips of their noses bump gently against each other again.

“So I say we don’t leave this bed again until seven,” he suggests, all while his eyes shimmer with happiness. “Then I’m taking you out on a date.”

Eddie can’t help but breathe out a chuckle at that. He feels warm all over, not just because of their shared body heat and the feeling of Buck’s hands on his own bare skin, but because of the deep attention Buck continuously pays to him. He’s beyond flattered, and utterly amazed by this man, by his unfaltering care for Eddie’s happiness.

It’s still hard to believe that he deserves Buck’s attention at times. Eddie still struggles to yield under the overwhelming force of it and fights to believe that he can give back as much to Buck in return – that he has as much good in him to share – but then Buck will look at him like this, like Eddie is worth the world, and it always makes Eddie lose his footing. Always makes him forget how to be himself and turns him into someone new, this new half of a whole that just _works_ , that just balances itself out somehow.

The tone of his voice is tinged with hope when he reiterates, “We’re staying here.”

“Just like this, please,” Buck hums back at him happily. His eyelids are already slipping closed under the sleepy weight of contentment; his arms tightening further around Eddie’s body.

Eddie spends a long moment just watching him, taking him in. Admires the only person in the world who can peel him down to the very bone and fill him back up with affection in a way that makes him feel so wholly settled, so entirely peaceful. And Buck does it just by being there, by understanding. Shows beauty in everything he does.

He settles against the other man fully. Leans into the home that Buck has become to him, and feels light there, with his head tucked in under Buck’s chin. He’s entirely at ease, now, with yesterday’s emotional hurdles a safe distance away and with the day ahead of them void of plans, yet full of importance.

And he finally drifts off to sleep, there. His mouth is pressed against the soft skin over Buck’s clavicle, lips once more pursed into an odd shape by the pressure, though this time it feels right. Warm against warmth, with the taste of Buck still layered on top like a gentle brand, a mark of belonging.

**Bonus bit:**

Buck, loud over the buzz of his razor, says, “Apparently he won five rounds of go fish in a row before he took pity on Chim and started letting him win – just to make him happy.”

He’s been standing in the warm hues of afternoon sun in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, now, recapping the most important parts of this morning’s phone call with Chris, and his smile is blinding when Eddie comes back into the bathroom and stands behind him.

Eddie presses his hands to Buck’s waist and watches Buck over a broad shoulder, through the mirror, where Buck’s razor is still raging on, forgotten in his hand.

Buck is handsome. Bright. Has a mouth that is stained with affection where Eddie has spent the past few hours kissing it; his smile pretty and contagious when their eyes lock in the reflection.

Eddie keeps listening to the melodic recount, attentive to the warm swells of adoration that line the story. He knows, from deep in his gut all the way out to the very tips of his fingers, that this is the sound of a proud father talking about his son, because he recognizes the grand affection that is shining through Buck’s very skin as his own.

Buck probably has no idea of what he’s doing, of what he sounds like or of what it implicates, but it’s yet another attractive layer of Buck that Eddie absolutely adores. Another reason why Eddie’s heart continuously longs for this man – why it yearns to be with him, to have him, to hold on to him for dear life.

Eddie’s heart knows that this thing between them is right, and it wants it forever – wants him and Buck and Chris to be a proper family, an unquestionable unit. So it makes him lean in and kiss the skin at the nape of Buck’s neck, just below the hairline. Is determined when it uses Eddie’s voice to let the skin and flesh and bones and heart beneath Eddie’s lips know that, “I love you.”

It’s said softly. Easily, like taking a breath, and suddenly just as vital.

When he raises his head and looks at the reflection of them over Buck’s shoulder again, Buck is already looking back at him. He’s somehow even brighter now. Positively _beaming_ , as though those three words are the best gift he’s ever received, even though the reality behind them has been brewing between them for quite some time now.

Neither of them was expecting Eddie to be the first one to say it, though.

Buck’s eyes are full of wonder, his voice steady and warm and brimming with elation when he settles the razor on the edge of the sink and says, “Give me some space.”

Eddie leans his head back, and hovers his hands over Buck’s hips so that he feels the drag of Buck’s skin against his palms when Buck turns on the spot.

There, Buck presses in close. Their stomachs, hips and thighs are touching when he murmurs, “I love you, too.”

And then he kisses Eddie’s mouth as though the only thing that’s ever been odd about its shape is the absence of his own lips against it for the past twenty minutes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains sexual content and hasn't been edited, so I'm very sorry. I also seem to have forgotten how to write, for which I'm even more sorry. At least I've warned you ahead of reading, so don't blame me if you do end up reading it and then don't like it.

Buck stays behind under the pretense of giving a helping hand, of cleaning up the house once everyone else has left. He can hear the final murmurings of a prolonged goodbye between Eddie and Chimney by the front door, and he allows himself to slip through the lingering mess in the kitchen to head towards the bedrooms instead.

The door to Chris’s room is wide open, and the bed has been left in its made up and neat state since this morning. Buck rolls his eyes at himself in reaction to the sight of it, sighing a beer-tinged breath of air across his own bottom lip when he remembers that Hen and Karen brought the boy home with them for a sleepover when they left, hours ago.

The next door is firmly closed; the bed in there left in a mess of pillows and sheets mapping out the joint shape of his and Eddie’s bodies the way they were entwined at dawn. He finds his own bag badly stored underneath the bed, more or less hidden in plain sight for anyone to find, and fishes out a t-shirt from its confines. Changing into it, he leaves his festive attire of a Christmas sweater and pressed trousers behind in a pile on the floor.

The house is warm; its air pleasantly heated up by the presence of guests and candlelight. The bare lengths of his legs remain comfortable – refuse to cover themselves with goosebumps as he treads the silence out in the hallway and traces his steps back to the kitchen, then onwards.

He finds Eddie in the living room, sat on the carpet with his back against the front of the couch. The sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up to his elbows all night, but now he’s undone the top three buttons of it and is running a wide palm from the back of his head to the front of it, disheveling his own state even further.

The entire place smells of cinnamon. Of gingerbread cookies and blown-out candles and comfort. It’s cozy. Soft. Warm and entirely right, with Eddie sat there on the floor as the very heart of it. The very source of this home.

Buck has yearned for him all night. Has kept his own hands in his pockets by force and stood on the very edge of temptation, longing to touch. His fingers have trembled around necks of bottles and his mouth has ached to drown the bitter taste of beer and solitude with the one of Eddie, with Eddie’s taste and warmth and softness.

Now that the house is empty – now that their unknowing friends have gone – Buck finds himself shaking with it, with that yearning. It feels like he’s standing on the verge of another confession – as though he has stretched himself so thin with emotion that he’s become transparent with it, just like he was before he blurted out everything that was in his heart a month ago, in his own kitchen, to an Eddie who raised an amused eyebrow over a piece of pizza crust.

Tonight there’s nothing to tell, it’s already laid out between them, and it remains entirely theirs for a few more days – stays a secret for a little while longer. He doesn’t know how – thinks his heart’s so loud, his emotions so vivid where they’re permanently pinned to his sleeves – but it’s there and it’s _theirs_ and he’s so lost in it where he stands. His entire body is so caught up in it, in love and longing, that it forgets everything else – forgets that it knows this home by heart and rushes forward, shoulder-first into the doorframe.

It’s the house kissing its affection into his skin violently. Trying to knock some sense into him, or perhaps just mocking the way he goes utterly senseless when he sees the man that he loves.

_He’s already yours_ , the wood whispers against his skin. _And he’s patient. There’s no need to rush._

The noise of the collision catches Eddie’s attention. His eyes are wide and searching where he’s looking up at Buck, his expression set in a determined frown as he takes in the scene and visibly connects the dot of the doorway to the one of Buck’s body pressed against it. Then realization dawns visibly over him; smooths the frown out and eases any concern from his gaze, allowing those beautiful eyes to roll pointedly in reaction. His sigh is long, eased out from deep within his chest and accompanied by a slow shake of his head.

It’s a familiar response. A natural echo to Buck’s clumsiness, because Eddie expects it of him. Expects him to trip and stumble and blurt out emotions, and he never walks away from it. He stands still each time; welcomes it all with an exasperated brand of sarcasm that always screams of fondness. It’s warm and right and soothing, to be known like that. To have someone who so patiently embraces each flailing part of him and encourages him to keep stumbling, to keep being himself. He can’t remember ever feeling so safe before.

Eventually he pushes away from the doorframe. Walks with a throbbing shoulder and warm cheeks over to the carpet and toes Eddie’s legs further apart so that he can sink down between them, his ankles crossed and his bent knees winged out against the insides of Eddie’s thighs. He’s comfortable there, curled in the v of Eddie’s legs, with Eddie’s torso as a safe harbor to lean in against.

One of Eddie’s hands settles on Buck’s right kneecap. The other reaches for Buck’s injured shoulder, pushing the sleeve of the t-shirt up expertly where the thumb can brush gently over the sore spot.

There’s a dull ache there, still, that will become a bruise at most. It’s nothing bad, nothing to make a fuss over, but Eddie still addresses the patch of skin with a fond mutter of, “Idiot.”

Buck hums in acknowledgement. Tilts his head and admires the thickness of Eddie’s eyelashes, the slope of his nose and the inviting shape of his mouth when it’s fighting back a smile like this. Then he points out, hushed, that, “You still keep me around, though.”

“I’m an idiot, too,” Eddie admits readily. He’s dragging his palm down the length of Buck’s arm now, landing at the inside of the elbow and finally flicking his gaze up to meet Buck’s. His eyes shimmer, reflecting the spark of the conversation – the undertone of desire in their gentle teasing.

Buck grins back at him. Curls fingers in the bottom hem of Eddie’s shirt and says, “Yeah, you are.”

They both flourish like this, sat together with affection-coated mockery floating back and forth in the few inches of space between them. It’s quiet, and it’s private, and it’s the two of them, bared and raw under each other’s gazes, held safely within the warmth of that connection. The way Eddie is smiling at Buck right now is splendid; the fact that Buck can make Eddie this happy is making him feel so proud, so full of purpose.

He sneaks his fingers in under Eddie’s shirt, now, and cherishes the intimate feeling of his own knuckles brushing against the flesh of Eddie’s lower abdomen – the way he can feel Eddie’s muscles tense with anticipation and want under the touch. Desire blossoming suddenly – vivid and sharp to the point of electricity where it seeps into Buck’s fingertips and ignites flames that licks all along his spine, setting fire to each nerve in his body.

The warmth of Eddie’s skin is intoxicating. The way he moves under Buck’s touch and reacts to each brush of a fingertip with a twitch of a muscle is enough to make Buck’s breathing go shallow. It feels like he’s been running. Like the whole evening’s been a marathon wherein his sole purpose has been to keep up with his own rushing heart, his own wild affection.

All he has left to do now is push himself forward the last few inches, sink to his hands and knees at the finish line where he can scrape his palms against the stretch of asphalt that Eddie represents and bask in the glorious, burning ache of it all afterwards. His shoulder, his lungs and his heart; all of him is already so pleasantly spent with love, and it’s worth it. So worth it, just to land here, and to know that Eddie has fought just as hard to be here, too.

He leans in. Is caught by Eddie’s wide palm at his waist and brought in safely against that broad chest, where he kisses Eddie’s mouth. He can feel Eddie breathing out through his nose at the contact, deep and trembling and hot over Buck’s upper lip, as though he’s been holding his breath all evening, just waiting for this moment to come.

Eddie’s hand is sinking, now, and settling on Buck’s hip where the fingers tighten around fabric and flesh – press against the outline of bone and pull as though they’re trying to bring Buck in even closer. There’s want in those fingertips, loud and undeniable and scorching against Buck’s skin. The desire is everywhere, wrapped entirely around Buck and tied to Eddie, and it’s the most arousing thing, to be wanted like this. Adds even more fuel to Buck’s already sizzling nerves and makes him push up, in, into Eddie’s hand, his chest. His own hand is curling around the back of Eddie’s neck to keep himself in place right there, anchored. Adored.

He licks the lingering hints of chocolate and beer off of Eddie’s tongue, scrapes his fingertips against the short hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, and relishes the way Eddie just _yields_ under him. Marvels at the way Eddie allows him in in all sense of the word; heart splayed open and lips parting further under Buck’s mouth.

Eddie is pushing his left hand from Buck’s kneecap and up the thigh, all while his right one sinks into the melody of that movement and adds to it when it lands high up on Buck’s left thigh. The rough fingertips of both hands spell out their desire across Buck’s skin, unashamed when they sneak their way in under the fabric of Buck’s underwear where they tickle – warm and enticing – as they trace the crevices where the thighs meet his groin.

It’s so _close_ , but not enough. Makes Buck’s breathing hitch and causes a soft sound to slip out from the back of his throat that Eddie just swallows down, kisses away all traces of.

Eventually he has to force himself to lean back, breathing hard with the tip of his nose still brushing against Eddie’s. His heart is beating wildly within his ribcage, and his pulse is loud in his own ears as Eddie kisses the underside of his jaw, down his throat. The spread of stubble across Eddie’s own jaw and chin is harsh and enticing against the skin over Buck’s clavicle.

Buck scratches his fingers harder against the back of Eddie’s neck in reaction, and settles his other hand on Eddie’s chest, over the heart where he can feel the matching rhythm of it against his palm. Then there’s the sensation of Eddie’s teeth scraping over his skin and suddenly his entire body is shivering, his breath tumbling out of him in the form of another whimper.

He closes his eyes; tries to _think_.

“Bedroom,” is all he manages to offer in the end, lacking eloquence and rasped out by a voice that’s already rough, already splintered by their actions.

Eddie’s breathing trembles out in harmony with Buck’s, and he hums in contemplation before he adds a murmur of, “We have one of those.”

_We_. As in you and I. Meaning _ours_.

Buck goes a bit dumbstruck with wonder, then, when hit by such sweetness in the midst of all that building arousal. Is suddenly sat still and blinking, stuck in the middle of contradicting emotions and feeling his heart swell, even as it keeps hammering away for _more_.

Eddie looks up at him. His smile is crooked and amused and beautiful, as is his chuckle when it spills out of him. He closes the inch of space between them after a moment; lands a swift peck upon Buck’s parted lips, then asks, “Let’s go?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge the weight of the word he just said or the future that it immediately laid out for them – the three of them – as a family, together in this home. He sidestepped it completely, as though it’s always been there waiting for them, and is now pressing his fingertips into Buck’s flesh in an urge to get them both moving. He’s still smiling all prettily when Buck finally manages to shake himself back into the moment, back into his own trembling body.

He kisses Eddie another time; steals the amusement from that gorgeous mouth and keeps the taste of it upon his own tongue when he pushes himself up by a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, with his ankle kept in a safe, steadying hold in Eddie’s palm.

Once upright, he offers both his hands to Eddie, and as soon as Eddie takes them he marvels the perfect fit of them. It’s a tremulous feeling, to be held in such a simple way and know that it’s somehow _everything_. To realize that he can give a gentle tug and that Eddie will be lead willingly wherever Buck decides to take him – that Eddie will follow him anywhere, through anything, because he trusts Buck that much.

He pulls Eddie up by the hands, now, and gets the entire length of Eddie’s body pressed against his own as the elasticity of their intimacy snaps back gently and holds them in place. The air between them is warm, bordering on humid where they both breathe heavily into the night, and the entire moment feels charged with a brand of anticipation that should belong to first nights, to first times. Yet here they stand, drinking each other in as though the longing they held for each other before still outweighs the time they’ve spent together ever since – as though they’re still eons away from being able to look at each other across a room without feeling like they’ll combust unless they get within touching-distance immediately.

When Eddie untangles a hand from Buck’s and slips it around the back of Buck’s neck, it’s Buck’s turn to follow. He yields to the pressure of those fingers and leans forward, sinking back into the bliss of Eddie’s mouth against his own, all while Eddie gets them both moving.

They navigate the way to the bedroom badly; both of them utterly distracted by each other as they tease more bruising affection out of the house and save it on forgotten patches of skin.

_Idiots indeed,_ the walls seem to be saying. _Perfect for each other, perfect in this home_.

Buck falls back against the open door to the bedroom eventually. Gets Eddie pressed against him and moans against the corner of Eddie’s mouth when Eddie’s hips slam into his own. He’s been hard and leaking since he had Eddie’s hands shoved beneath his underwear, and all he wants is to have those teasing fingers back on his skin – have them finish what they started.

Eddie rumbles something unintelligible in response and then he’s moving them again, pushing them past the discarded pile of clothes on the floor and over to the outline of them on the bed where they’ll get to bleed into their own shapes once more – relearn the curves of each other’s bodies and rediscover how well they fit together here. In their bed.

Buck is determined when he peels the clothes off of Eddie’s body, eager to get the layers of fabric out of his way so that he can sink fully into Eddie’s warmth and trace each sculpted line of that body with greedy fingertips. He wants to look, to taste, to feel. He _wants_.

His own shirt and boxers are cast aside, too, and then it’s just them. Bared – somehow down to their very bones – and wholly safe in each other’s gazes.

The trust that Eddie has in Buck, in Buck’s body and in his own in relation to it, is overwhelming. New. Something that Buck has never known before. Eddie proves that he knows how much Buck can take, how much Buck’s body is capable of and what it deserves to have. His weight on top of Buck isn’t suffocating; his hands against Buck’s sides not delicate enough to tickle, nor rough enough to bruise.

There’s just pressure and love in those palms. The weight of adoration and desire as they press down over Buck’s ribs, move over his lower abdomen and then keep him pinned to the mattress by the hips as Eddie kisses a path all along Buck’s body, down to the most sensitive parts of him.

The brand of care in Eddie’s gaze is breathtaking when he opens Buck up; the wildfire of desire has been temporarily tamed down to a steady flame in those expressive eyes when he works his fingers into Buck carefully. At one point there’s a kiss to the inside of Buck’s thigh in response to a sign of discomfort that must show on Buck’s face, because it hushes the whine that was about to tear itself out of his throat – breaks it apart into something softer once it finally does spill out of him, and then it becomes a scatter of opposing emotions laid bare for Eddie to act upon.

Buck trusts Eddie to know what he needs even though he can’t name it himself, can’t think past the feeling of Eddie against him, inside of him in every sense of the word, and he isn’t let down.

He gets Eddie’s mouth pressed back against his own again, soft and hungry as it swallows up any noise that Buck has to give. Gets the entire length of Eddie’s body brushing against his own with every measured thrust as Eddie finally pushes into him with purpose, and he feels so seen, so heard, so loved, there, as he gives himself away. Knows that he hasn’t lost a single thing; that he holds Eddie’s heart in the absence of his own. That he’s _home_.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one actually had several hundred words of context before, but those words were written while my blood sugar levels were really low and once I finally got them under control again and read this entire thing through, I realized that the so-called context made no sense whatsoever, not even to me. So, I'm very sorry if the lack of backstory makes this ficlet a rushed mess of complete confusion.

They collide in the kitchen doorway. Face each other, framed by wood and with the drone of their friends and family fading out to a pleasant white noise in the background.

Eddie can’t remember where he was going; can’t imagine that it was anywhere important.

Buck’s smile is beautiful, his eyes wide and bright where they visibly take Eddie in as though it’s a pleasant surprise to see him, a treat to crash into Eddie anywhere, at any time, even though they’re at each other’s sides more often than not on a daily basis. His cheeks are a bit rosy from the building warmth of body heat and candlelight in the house, and he doesn’t seem to realize exactly where they’re standing until Maddie nudges a gentle elbow against his side as she passes them.

She’s on her way out of the kitchen with a glass of sparkling water in her hand, and her voice is brimming with a melodic kind of delight when she hums, ”Mistletoe!”

Kind as she is, she simply keeps moving past them and rejoins the rest of the party without drawing any further attention to Buck and Eddie in their halted position beneath the mentioned sprig of mistletoe.

“Oh, right,” Buck breathes out, flicking his gaze upward. When he looks back down at Eddie again his smile turns a bit sheepish. “Probably should’ve remembered that, seeing as I helped her put it up there.”

Eddie swallows. Tries to interpret the light tone of Buck’s voice and the slight sway of his body on the spot, but he struggles to get a good enough read of his best friend to understand the levity of the moment. In the end he just forces out a slow, quiet, “Suppose so.”

Silence creeps in between them, then, gentle where it seems to stick to the doorframe like insulation. It closes them off further from the rest of the party and encases them in privacy; soft and familiar.

“Well,” Buck drawls eventually, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. He glances briefly out to the living room before he adds, “No one’s looking. We better get it over with quickly if we don’t want Chimney to go on about it for weeks.”

Eddie blinks slowly, struggling to keep up with this sudden turn of events. He has been patient for so long – has trusted time to bring them to the right moment eventually, even though it has been painful to sit back and wait for it, to yearn quietly. He has known deep down, though, that they’ve both needed the space to figure things out on their own – to find out who they are in relation to another person again. To remember how to love.

Them coming together – developing into something more than just best friends – has felt inevitable for a long time. It’s felt like the most natural progression, the most obvious path of his life, and it has made the waiting a bit easier, though. A bit more bearable.

Standing here now, though, caught in the doorway with a visibly at ease Buck in front of him, he wonders if the waiting can really be over now. If this really can be the right way for them to finally make their shift from friends to something more.

After so much time spent waiting, holding their breaths until right moment, can a moment caught beneath some mistletoe really be it?

“We’re doing this? Now?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow and flails his hands out weakly at his sides to encompass the room. “Like this?”

Buck chuckles at that, his tone still light when he says, “Yeah, _like this_. It’s tradition, man.”

And he seems so fine with it – looks so happy – as though it can really be this easy. As seamless and as natural as the rest of their relationship has always been. And it’s all the convincing Eddie needs; the only push required to make him realize that it doesn’t matter when or where or why – that all that matters is that they’ve ended up in this moment together and that neither one of them are hesitating to finally settle into it, into a permanent _them_.

So he nods, determined. Feels his entire chest ease around his aching heart as he pushes into the few inches of space that separate him from Buck and takes Buck’s head gently into his own hands. His palms are big on the sides of that handsome face; his fingers delicate against the soft skin as he tilts Buck’s head just right, and then he finally leans in.

Buck’s mouth is open and waiting, his lips as soft as the sound that slips out from between them at the first touch of Eddie’s mouth against his. Eddie catches Buck’s upper lip between his own and savors the trill of sensation that climbs along his spine when Buck exhales heavily through his nose in response, over Eddie’s skin. He brushes his thumbs against Buck’s cheeks and presses in further, hungry for more.

Buck is solid and real and safe against him, pressing back against Eddie’s body and allowing Eddie to take more, to taste more. He licks into the heat of Buck’s mouth and finds hints of chocolate there. Sweetness underlined with the fruity bitterness of the juice that Buck has been sharing with Chris all evening. Somehow, it’s all he’s ever wanted – almost more than his yearning heart can comprehend, yet that worn heart of his is right there on the tip of his own tongue now. It goes willingly when Eddie gives it to Buck, and is sealed in place with another lingering kiss that makes Eddie’s fingers tremble and slip, then curl in tighter down at Buck’s jawline.

When they finally part, Eddie has to fight to get air back down to his lungs. He somehow feels settled and dazed into oblivion all at once as he blinks Buck back into focus; their place in the doorway still seemingly detached from the rest of the world.

Buck looks like he’s been flayed open by the tenderness of Eddie’s touch. His mouth is red and parted with surprise, and the blue of his eyes carry devastating storms of conflicting emotions where he blinks back at Eddie.

It’s obvious, then, even in the dazed aftermath of what just happened, that Buck didn’t expect that – a kiss of such intensity, or even a kiss at all. He was perhaps only awaiting the same quick, playful peck on the cheek that they’ve seen exchanged on this stretch of floor multiple times tonight, between multiple people.

“You don’t know,” Eddie realizes, hushed. Rough. He’s suddenly raw and aching with a hollow chest, because Buck apparently has no idea that Eddie loves him after all; no idea that Eddie wants him more than anything else, more than any man has ever wanted anything before. “Christ, Buck, you don’t _know_.”

He lets his hands drop from Buck’s jaw in an act of utter despair, and they’ve almost fallen completely to his sides when Buck grabs a hold of both wrists in his hands; their hold almost bruising with a brand of desperation that suddenly flares just as intensely in his eyes. The moment is halted again; time seized in the standstill of two pairs of lungs as they gaze at each other, take each other in.

Eddie ponders the bruising want around his own wrists, then the wounds of love that he kissed open in Buck’s expression. And it doesn’t take more than that to know that Buck truly _does_ want him back, that Eddie hasn’t just been imagining it or projecting his own desires onto Buck. Buck has been waiting for the right moment to come along, too – he just didn’t realize that this was it, that it was sprouted from far more than a tradition.

The want that encircles Eddie’s bones now had a rich flavor upon Buck’s lips, and it is spelled out in bold lines all across Buck’s face in this shivering aftermath. Buck isn’t trying to deny it, isn’t keeping anything from Eddie where they stand in their doorway – he just needed a moment to catch up.

Eddie murmurs, “How could you not know?”

_Know that I love you, that I am yours – that I’ve been yours for so long now?_

Buck exhales, then. It’s shaky and wet and full of emotion, as is his voice when he says, “Been scared, I guess.”

Eddie twists his wrists. Feels Buck’s grip of him loosen, and shifts around to connect their hands instead.

“Of?”

“Having you,” Buck shrugs. His eyes shimmer under flashes of pain, and his voice is merely a fragile whisper when it adds, “I really don’t want to end up driving you away, Eddie. I can’t lose you.”

Eddie swallows, thick and painful.

“Away?” he repeats. He can feel himself frowning at the word. Thinks: _but I’m in you_. Then he shakes his head. “No. Nowhere without you. You and Chris – you’re all I’m ever trying to get to.”

It earns him a startled chuckle; wet and soft and beautiful.

“Good. That’s good,” Buck smiles, eyes suddenly alight with wonder. His hands in Eddie’s are heavy. _Right_. “I’ll be right here.”

“Here,” Eddie grins. He kisses the beautiful curve of Buck’s mouth – allows himself to linger there again, just to fill as much of his senses with as much of Buck as he possibly can. Then, against Buck’s lips, he breathes out an amazed hum of, “We finally got here.”


End file.
